Haplessly Ever After
by mad margaret
Summary: Sequel to Interlude-Part 7 of the Willie Loomis World Series. Willie's story has a happy ending, because all his dreams have come true. But not all dreams are good ones. This is the beginning of Part II (Chapter 11): Return of the Psycho Zombie. Willie begins his recovery at Wyndcliff Sanitarium.
1. Exposition

**A/N: **#7 in the _Willie Loomis World Series_. Previous stories, in chronological order, are _Little Willie, Globetrotters, The Maine Event, Changes, This Old House_ and _Interlude_. If reference is made to a character or event you don't recognize, it's probably from one of the earlier installments.

The time period is different from the original source material. The first story begins in December 1956. Willie is 25 years old at the beginning of this story.

Willie's thoughts are _italicized._ Barnabas' unspoken communications to Willie are _italicized and underlined._

Visit me on Facebook (name Mad Margaret) or at LiveJournal, where the series appears with photos (name Lizzie_Bathory)

**Warnings: **Willie's usual colorful language, and a little sex and violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Dark Shadows_ or any otherwise copyrighted material contained herein.

* * *

**Part I**

**November 1982**

Willie Loomis was bat shit crazy, or at least on a one-way street in that direction.

He had known about it for a while, and made a concerted effort to act normal at the grocery store, with his wife, at his job, at his other job…but just the idea of getting through the day was overwhelming. At night would come some pretty messed up dreams, but then he'd wonder if they were dreams after all; it was quite possible that shit had really happened.

The boy remembered at one time belonging to a vampire. He also remembered becoming a vampire, and for a while that was cool. That was when he acquired his black leather jacket, although it got ripped in a fight with the Collinsport Ghoul a/k/a Harry Johnson. Afterwards, Willie gave up his bloodsucking career to please his wife. Of course, Maggie wasn't his wife then; she wouldn't even go out with him when he was dead.

Then, just a few months later, Willie Loomis was married to the girl he loved, and he wasn't exactly sure how he managed that. Why would Maggie marry a Brooklyn bum when she was engaged to the handsomest, most mild-mannered guy in town? You see, now that's what didn't make sense. But it wasn't a dream; there was a ring on his finger, and a matching one on hers.

Her father, Sam Evans, didn't like the hoodlum turned handyman, not one bit. Then, suddenly, he had insisted the couple get hitched and there they were, standing in front of a judge at town hall. It was a Wednesday morning. The young man wore a second-hand suit Julia helped him purchase, and Victoria Winters stood to one side holding a bouquet of violets. Maggie's dad sat at the back of the room while her former boyfriend, Joe, paced in the hallway.

It would have been nice to have had a best man, someone on his side, but Willie had no friends. Jason was dead, and Barnabas was dead too—sort of. Buzz, while not dead, had ridden his motorcycle off into the sunrise to find greener pastures and pursue his academic interests on the highway to heavy metal heaven.

It was a quickie wedding, the result of a whirlwind romance—which was a nice way to describe what had happened. Maggie and Willie had taken off for Bangor late one Friday afternoon for the much anticipated date she once promised on a whim. Because of the ruffian's unsavory reputation, Maggie was somewhat less than forthcoming to her father about their plans.

It had started out as a quiet dinner at a respectable restaurant with a moderately-priced bottle of wine, but ended up in a hotel room for a raucous weekend of eating and wearing pizza, guzzling rum with Hawaiian Punch, and making up for a lot of lost time. When the couple sneaked back into the Evans cottage on Monday afternoon, Sam, Joe and Sheriff Patterson were waiting for them. The police officer discreetly looked the other way as his two friends slugged the troublemaker.

That evening, Willie returned to the Old House with trepidation. _Holy fugnuggets_, if Joe and Sam had been that mad, what was Barnabas going to do? He sat on the floor near his master's coffin, contemplating the injustice of his situation. He and Maggie Evans were both consenting adults. It was not as if he had kidnapped and raped the girl. Yes, during those three days, one of them should have picked up the telephone, but they didn't think about that—or chose not to.

The coffin lid creaked open and the vampire alit as Willie mentally prepared himself for the inevitable. Barnabas looked down at his senseless servant, a purple bruise on the boy's cheekbone evident even by the dim candlelight, and shook his head.

"Why do you and good judgment continually remain at odds?" he sighed.

"I d-dunno. I'm sorry."

"Are you now? Are you genuinely sorry for what you've done?"

His left leg started to bounce. "Uh…no."

"You do realize everyone thought Miss Evans had been abducted again? I had to bear false witness as to your whereabouts when search parties appeared at my threshold. And why? Because whenever there is wrongdoing in the village, the first suspect is invariably my manservant. Count yourself fortunate; had she been my daughter, you would be in a stockade and horsewhipped."

"I just w-wanted—"

Barnabas brought up the young man by the shoulders. "Thoughtless, selfish boy, what a disappointment you are to Julia and me." He retreated up the stairs, leaving Willie more troubled than relieved.

The vampire's displeasure compounded at the revelation that his servant was getting married and moving out of the Old House, both without permission. Julia reminded her husband that he was the boy's employer now, not his owner. Barnabas scoffed at the absurdity of modern times.

Of course, his boss hadn't attended Willie's wedding but, at Julia's insistence, paid for the suit and the rings, and gifted the couple with $100, the equivalent of two years' salary for a literate servant in his day. Barnabas considered it more of an apology to the Evans family. He also afforded the lad the time and means with which to document his existence, as he could not apply for a marriage license without a birth certificate or Social Security card. To everyone's great relief, Willie's blood test came back negative of any abnormalities.

So Mr. and Mrs. Loomis lived happily ever after.


	2. What Dreams May Come

**Chapter 2 – What Dreams May Come**

"Maggie!" Willie ran through down the slope towards Widow's Hill, snow crunching underfoot. "Come back!"

But Maggie would not stop. Racing ahead until she reached the precipice, the young woman stood there, her cloak billowing wildly in the winter wind.

He caught up, but Barnabas got there first, locked with Maggie in a concupiscent embrace. Willie leaped, fists swinging, but the monster effortlessly flung him to the ground. Maggie pulled away, looked dispassionately at the two men, and, without comment, threw herself from the cliff.

"NOOO!" Willie yelled, scrambling to the earth's edge. "Don't leave me alone!"

"She knew too much to live," Barnabas explained, pulling the boy to his feet. As Willie began to sob, his master struck him sharply on the shoulder with his wolf head cane. "Shut up, and stop being so emotional. You have no rights. You get nothing. Now, return to the Old House and go back to work. That's where you belong."

Willie was still weeping as he stood in the candlelit bathroom, but his tears were made of blood which cascaded down his cheeks in fragmented red rivers. Horrified, he stared at himself in the mirror as his reflection faded to nothing and only the blood remained, suspended in thin air.

But he hadn't disappeared, because when he turned around, Sam Evans was there, aiming his shotgun. He fired at point blank range, and the young man heard the mirror shatter as his brains splattered the wall.

Willie woke up clutching his pillow, backed up to where the mattress met the wall. He hoped to hell he had not screamed just then. _It was just another dream_. He often had disturbing dreams, almost every night, that's what Maggie said. He made so much noise in his sleep that the landlord twice slipped notes under their door, telling the young couple to quiet down their kinky sexcapades.

Willie lay on the mattress in their otherwise empty apartment, watching Maggie hook her bra, illuminated by the blue nightlight. She was getting pretty fat, he thought, but that was okay, it happens to ladies after they're married. Besides, he liked where she was growing larger.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Home." She pulled on a pair of stretch pants. "I have to get some rest."

"I'm sorry; don't go. I'll be quiet."

"It's not just the hollering." Maggie pulled an oversized sweatshirt over her head. "You can't stay still for five minutes. Just now you almost hit me in the face again. What will people say if I show up for work with a black eye?"

"They'll think I beat you up, and your pop will shoot me. My bloody brains will go splat on the wall."

"Lovely." She sat on the mattress and brushed back the bangs from his eyes. "Honey, I'm sorry, but if I leave now, I can still catch a few hours sleep." The young man pulled her into his arms and held tight. Now she wouldn't be able to go. "Willie, this is not normal; you've got to get help, please go to a doctor."

"And say what?" He looked bewildered.

"What do you think? That you have horrible nightmares all the time. You cry and yell and thrash around, and wake up screaming. Then you lie there trembling with glassy eyes while I apologize to the neighbors who've been banging on the walls."

"…I don't really cry."

"Get me a tape recorder and I'll prove it. Why are you so terrified? Is it something from the mysterious past you won't tell me about, or is it Mr. Barnabas Collins?" The last part of her question revealed a hint of sarcasm.

"I don't remember," he lied. "Why would I be af-fraid of Barnabas?"

She pulled away and stared at him. "Oh, maybe because he's a vampire who sucked out your soul, beat you and forced you to work like a slave in that freezing, filthy hellhole. Then he kidnapped me and tried to kill both of us. Stop me when any of this starts to sound familiar."

"Did I tell you that?" He laughed apologetically.

"Yes, you did, because two months of my life were erased from memory, thanks to that devious doctor who protects him as much as you do!"

Willie buried his face in his hands. "Why are you yellin' at me?"

"I'm not yell—!" she regained her composure. "Look, I don't want to upset you. I get that you've blocked a lot of this from your mind, but I haven't; I'm reminded every time I see those scars on your back."

"I'm sorry; I'll keep my shirt on."

"That's not the—never mind." Maggie kissed her husband. "_Please_ go see Dr. Woodard today."

"It's fine, I already talked to Dr. Hoffman, and she gave me some pills. Three dif'rent kinds."

"That woman should have her license revoked." His young wife shook her head. "I hope you're not mixing them up with the ones she gave you before."

_Shit, I hope not, too._ "I was real careful and wrote on the labels."

Maggie stood up and put on her coat. "I'll see you at breakfast. Will you pick up bagels and cream cheese on the way?"

"Nope, 'cause you're gettin' fat." He smiled impishly.

"That's funny, Loomis. Keep it up and you'll be the one with a black eye."

"I love you."

"I love you too. See you at home." Maggie closed the door quietly behind her as she left, so she wouldn't disturb the neighbors.

* * *

_Home._ That's what she called her pop's cottage where she grew up, and that was understandable. Their dinky studio apartment wasn't much of a home. There was a mattress, an alarm clock and a thrift store lamp on the floor. What passed for the kitchen took up part of one wall, next to the postage stamp bathroom, where you had to step over the toilet to get to the shower.

But Willie called it the Party Palace. It had a sizzling radiator, electricity, hot running water, refrigerator and a gas stove. The roof didn't leak and the windows weren't cracked. It cost a bit more than the newlyweds could afford, but was necessary if they were to have any privacy.

Sam wanted his little girl at home as much as possible, but Willie didn't feel welcome there. He was uncomfortable in Maggie's bedroom and the idea of Mr. Evans listening from next door was enough to deflate anyone's enthusiasm. Likewise, and for a myriad of reasons, Maggie refused to go into the Old House, where her husband's old quarters were still available.

Willie turned on the bedside lamp and reached over to the three prescription bottles on the floor. There were pills to make him sleep, pills to help him stay awake, and an antidepressant to fight the demons. In order to keep them straight, he had drawn an up arrow, a down arrow and a smiley face on the labels. He was about to pop a sleeping pill when the telephone rang.

It couldn't be Maggie. She had just left, and no one else would call him, let alone in the middle of the night—except for Dr. Hoffman. It seemed like a good idea when she had talked Barnabas into installing phone service in the Old House, but then shit like this happened.

"Whadda ya want, Julia? It's 2 o'clock in the mornin'."

"I apologize for disturbing you, but you know the timing of these things is crucial. I need you to drive me to Maine Coast Memorial for a pickup."

"No," he whined. "I'm sleepin'."

"Take an amphetamine; do you remember which ones they are?"

Willie sighed. "The orange ones with the up arrow."

"Good boy. I'll expect you in 15 minutes." She hung up.

The young man reached over to the pile of his clothes on the floor and began to get dressed. It was lucky Maggie wasn't there, because she would have had a hissy fit at the way Julia and Barnabas expected her husband to be at their beck and call 24/7. And then she would demand to know why they were driving to hospitals all over the state in the dead of night, meeting creepy characters at back doors, and exchanging large amounts of cash for ice coolers containing—well, Willie didn't know exactly. He didn't want to know. Maybe stolen blood for Barnabas but, more than likely, it was equipment for another one of the good doctor's crazy ass experiments.


	3. Long Day's Journey into Night

Willie got home a half hour before it was time to get up, so there was no sense going back to bed. He took a long, steamy shower and put on yesterday's clothes. His clean stuff was stored at the Old House and his laundry was currently at the Evans Cottage, which is where he headed with bagels and cream cheese, as he was asked to do.

"Shh, Pop's still sleeping," Maggie answered the door. "Geez, Willie, you've got bags under your eyes. Didn't you get any rest after I left?"

"I sleep better when you're there."

"I know, honey. We'll try again tonight." She took the grocery bag from him and set it on the kitchen table. "Pop has some work for you today. It's on the easel."

"Good." Willie enjoyed making the frames for the artist's paintings. It gave him a chance to practice a real skill instead of the menial labor that usually occupied his days and evenings. And Sam seemed to approve of the woodwork, if not the carpenter. But no matter; after living with Barnabas, the boy was accustomed to working without compliment or compensation.

Mr. Evans appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking like a train wreck.

"Mornin', sir," Willie ventured.

"Yes, I know it's morning; thanks for that brilliant observation. Now get out of my chair," the older man growled as Willie quickly exchanged seats.

"Pop, be nice." Maggie helped her dad sit down and kissed his cheek. "Willie brought us breakfast, see?"

"I don't want anything, just coffee, sweetheart." He sneered at his good-for-nothing son-in-law. "So, maybe you'll get a decent job today."

"He already has two jobs," Maggie called from across the kitchen.

"And they don't pay enough to feed a parakeet."

"It's not his fault I only pay minimum wage."

"He's too old to be a busboy. How do you ever expect to support a family, huh, Loomis? Maybe you should have thought of that before you unzipped—"

"Pop." His daughter's voice had a warning tone as she set three mugs of steaming coffee on the table.

"Look at him, staring into space like the village idiot. He needs to accept some responsibility because you're not going to sling hash at that diner for much longer."

"But I'm the manager now," Maggie corrected him. "And _head_ hash slinger. And someday, who knows? I'm thinking of taking some college classes in Business."

Sam harrumphed at that notion. "And where will you find the time and money for that?"

"When you become rich and famous…"

Willie had already zoned out. With a butter knife, he carved designs into the cream cheese on his bagel, only vaguely aware of the conversation going on. The next time the young man looked about, Maggie and her dad were on the sofa. He was snoring and she had her feet propped up on coffee table, watching _Good Morning, Maine_ on TV. Almost half an hour had passed.

Willie cleared the breakfast plates, then went through the house, dumping ashtrays and picking up empty bottles and glasses. When the dishes were washed and dried, he swept the kitchen floor and proceeded to clean the bathroom.

"Bring me the laundry basket and I'll fold some wash while I'm sitting here." Maggie kissed him when he returned to take her empty coffee mug. "I know you work hard. Maybe, under the circumstances, Mr. Collins would give you a raise. Either that or tell him to find himself another flunky."

Willie looked uncertain. "I'll ask." The boss didn't like to part with his cold cash; he surmised that domestic staff should be satisfied with receiving room and board, with perhaps a small stipend at Christmas. A reward from Barnabas used to be not getting smacked across the room. "Your pop didn't wash out his brushes again. I'll rinse them off before I get started on that frame."

It was almost noon when Willie finished, but the final product looked quite professional. He set the framed portrait back on the old man's easel and grabbed his jacket. Maggie was napping in her room. He tiptoed in and kissed her softly.

"I'm headin' over to the Old House now. See you later."

* * *

"Willie, you're late." Dr. Hoffman sat at the parlor desk and looked up from her notes. "There are crates in the hallway for you to take upstairs to the lab."

"Julia, I need a raise. Sam Evans is ridin' my ass to make more money."

"Not now. Those boxes have been sitting there all morning. Then please drive me over to Collinwood." She observed his forlorn expression. "We can talk about it later. I doubt that Barnabas will be amenable—but I'll see what I can do." She patted his arm. "After all, this experiment wouldn't be possible without your help."

"I don't mind, as long as it don't involve donatin' blood. That didn't work out so good last time."

The woman smiled. "I think you'll be quite pleased with the results. Now get started. We have a busy day."

Willie spent the afternoon fetching and carrying, scrubbing and sweeping, cleaning out the fireplaces and chopping firewood. Gone were the days when he could use the chainsaw at Collinwood and enjoy a hot lunch twice a week with Mrs. Johnson. She was retired with a comfortable sum and had moved away to live with her daughter in Florida, where it was always warm and sunny.

The young man was pretty sure he had spent time in Miami with his old pal, who had business deals with Cubans, or something like that. That was a long time ago; Jason McGuire was dead now, although he still showed up occasionally.

It got dark so early at that time of year, the Old House servant lit the basement candles at 4:30 in anticipation of Barnabas' rising. He must have dozed off, because the next thing Willie realized, he was slumped on the floor and the vampire was glaring down at him.

"Please sleep on your own time, not whilst I am paying you," Barnabas snapped.

The boy scrambled to his feet. "Yeah, about that—"

"I trust you otherwise made good use of the day. Julia said you gave her a difficult time about an errand. I do not wish to reprimand you again on that subject." He retrieved his walking stick and closed the lid to the coffin.

"Speakin' of money—"

"I beg your pardon?" Barnabas turned with a raised brow. "Are we having two separate conversations?"

Willie hung his head. "No, sir."

"Very well." The vampire proceeded up the steps and his servant followed. "What have you read today?"

"Nothin' yet."

"I instructed you to begin _Hamlet_ and you disappoint me yet again. How do you hope to better yourself when you resist my every effort to help you?"

"I dunno. If ya let me take somethin' home, I-I could read after work maybe."

The vampire snorted at the mention of _home_. In his day a servant's personal life in no way interfered with that of his master. "This is not a lending library, certainly not with the way you handle books."

Barnabas was often snippy first thing in the evening. Fortunately Julia met him in the parlor with a warm mug filled with his equivalent of morning coffee. The vampire kissed her hand and settled into his favorite wing back chair. Willie shuffled over to stoke up the fire.

"I do not approve of your rushing off the moment I rise in the evening in order to work at another job. It's beyond me why you ever put yourself in that regrettable situation. Your loyalties should lie with Julia and me, not some…"

The voice trailed off as Willie stared at the blaze, mesmerized by the dancing flames, listening to the roar. Snap, crackle, pop...Rice Krispies...roasted wieners and marshmallows…clinking crystal. Maggie smiled at him, her hair was a brilliant auburn when lit by the fire.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Willie, look at me; are you feeling alright?" Julia peered into his eyes and, not liking what she saw, proceeded to take his pulse. "Let me get you something."

"Gotta drive. Gotta go to work."

"Well, at least go upstairs and lie down for a little while."

"Can't do that." The young man shook his head with a chuckle.

"Relax, it's early yet."

"No, it's too late! I gotta go!" In a sudden panic, Willie jumped to his feet and raced out the door as the bewildered couple stared after him.

Willie froze in his tracks on the front porch. His pickup was gone; someone had stolen it. There was that one time when Barnabas had given his truck to Harry Johnson, because he was a better worker and didn't break things. He wouldn't do that again, because Johnson himself became a vampire and was destroyed—Maggie and her trusty shotgun blew him into the next world so that not even a ghost remained.

The baffled servant stomped back into the Old House. "Alright, what the fuck have you done with my truck?" he demanded. "I need it. I got responsibilities, goddamit. You can't make me stay here!"

Barnabas rose and grabbed him by the throat. "On the contrary, continue to speak to me in that tone of voice, boy, and you will see exactly what I can make you do. And if I decide to punish you again, it will _not_ be in the wine cellar."

"Don't, dear. You can see he's agitated." Julia interceded, gently grasping the vampire's arm. "Willie, breathe. Your truck is parked in the rear of the house. Don't you remember?"

The young man backed away, shaking his head. The room looked hazy and he felt strangely disoriented. He turned and walked uncertainly down the hall towards the servants' entrance.

* * *

"Willie, you can't come into work after cleaning fireplaces; you're filthy," Maggie clucked as her husband noticed for the first time that he was covered in soot. "Go wash your face and hands, then get an apron from the locker. Hurry up, we're running out of water glasses and forks."

On his way to the kitchen, Willie spotted Sam at a table enjoying his evening meal with Joe Haskell. Maggie's former boyfriend was a tall man with matinee idol looks. Their conversation died abruptly at the sight of the ruffian, Sam's fork clanked down on his plate as if his food had suddenly lost all flavor. Willie ducked into the men's room to wash up. What he really wanted to do was dump that dinner on their fat heads and punch their lights out, but good restaurant employees weren't supposed to do that.

With his sleeves rolled up, Willie immersed his hands in the hot water and his brain in the mindless, routine job of washing dishes. In the dining room, plates clattered, glasses clunked, patrons chatted, and food orders were yelled into the kitchen. When the sink was empty Willie would tour the tables, fill his plastic tub with dirty dishes, and begin again. Maggie looked cheerful but weary, sitting down whenever possible to nibble at a turkey sandwich she had stashed behind the counter. By the end of the evening she looked ready to pack it in.

"Someday I'm going to buy this place, and we'll be rich," Maggie said as she closed out the cash register while indulging in an evening snack of Harvard beets followed by strawberry ice cream. "Then you can work here as long as you want."

Willie settled down next to her and dove into his plate of stuffed cabbage, spaghetti and French fries. The cook fed him leftovers at the end of the day, usually the food that was too old to sell to customers. It was a free meal that he didn't have to prepare.

"I dunno. You shouldn't hand out them cushy jobs to your relatives. That's called nepotism." He must remember to tell Barnabas that he used one of his dictionary words in a sentence.

Without looking up, Maggie continued casually, "So, what are you planning to do on Sunday?"

Willie shrugged. "Go to work, I guess."

"The diner's closed."

"I mean at the Old House. Barnabas don't understand about things like days off."

"So I noticed," his wife snorted. "Well, since I do have off, Pop wants to take a day trip. There's a new Winslow Homer exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art, and he, uh, invited me and Joe to go with him."

"…Oh."

"Come on, Willie, you wouldn't like it. I'll bet you've never been in a museum in your life."

"I have so. Lotsa times," he replied quietly.

Maggie knew that, while her husband was well traveled, there seemed to be a lot of gaps in his social upbringing. At times he seemed completely ignorant of everyday experiences.

"But, as you said, you have to work."

Willie thought for a moment. "Actually, I think Barnabas would like if I went to a museum. He's always wantin' me to better myself."

"I don't know…" Maggie looked sadly at her husband as he stared at the pink sauce on her plate. "Well, do you absolutely promise to get along with everyone and not embarrass me?"

"I'll try."

"Okay, then." Maggie wrapped up the day's receipts to put in the safe. "Let's get out of here. Are you ready?"

"I still haveta fill the ketchup bottles and clean the bathrooms."

"Oh, no. Willie, I told you hours ago that the ladies' room was backed up."

"I forgot."

"Well, lock up when you leave, and make sure the sign is turned and the lights are out."

"Yeah, boss. I know what to do." Maggie went in the back to retrieve her coat and handbag. "You goin' home?"

"I'm stopping off at the Blue Whale for a little while to meet Joe and Pop. Don't worry, just for a ginger ale. I'll see you back at the apartment." She gave him a quick kiss and left.

* * *

Willie looked at the alarm clock. He had been there for more than an hour, and Maggie still had not come home. Finally, the young man could stay awake no longer and dropped off to sleep as he sat by the window with his transistor radio still playing. A short while later, the telephone rang, and Willie jumped up to grab the phone.

"What? Maggie? Are you alright?"

It was Julia Hoffman.


	4. An Education

The following day Willie rushed through his morning chores at the Evans' cottage and dashed to the modest Collinsport Public Library where he completed an application for a library card and engaged the assistance of a long-faced woman with round, oversized glasses.

"Can ya help me find some things? First, I need somethin' called _Hamlet_, one with notes where they tell ya what the hell's goin' on, and make sure it's not a first edition." The last time Willie read one of the boss's vintage novels, he dropped it and broke the spine.

The librarian stifled a smile. "Yes?"

"And I need a book that explains everythin' about art."

"That would be a very large book. Is there a particular kind of art you're interested in?"

"All kinds. Or maybe just the stuff from museums in Maine."

"Sir, since you've just applied for your card, you may check out only two books."

"That's fine, 'cause I only got one day to learn all this," he confided to the lady. "I need to impress somebody."

"In that case," she chuckled, "let's begin with Impressionism."

* * *

Sunday morning, Willie showered and shaved before making a beeline for the Old House, where he changed into his dark suit slacks and best sweater. Shoes polished. Hair combed back. Then he hit up Julia for an advance on his salary and left a note for Barnabas to explain that he needed a day off to better himself.

"What took so long?" Maggie asked as they left the house to pile into Sam's station wagon. "Pop wants to get there by ten."

"Sorry, I wanted to look nice. Ya know what Hamlet says, _the apparel oft proclaims the man_—"

"Then why did you show up in that old, ripped leather jacket?" Sam interrupted, knowing very well it was the only coat Willie owned.

Maggie took her husband's arm and guided him away. "I'll get you a new one for Christmas," she whispered.

Sam then instructed Willie to sit shotgun and Joe and Maggie to sit in the back. He handed a road map to his son-in-law.

"Any idea how to read this?"

"Uh, yessir, I'm pretty g-good at it." He had traveled with Jason all over the country by car and bus.

"We'll see." He pointed to two spots. "This is where we are, and this is where we're going. Try to stay awake."

The Portland Museum of Art was located in three buildings on Congress Square. Sam wanted to start at the Memorial Gallery to see the newly acquired Winslow Homer works.

"How 'bout if you and Joe do that. I'm not a big Homer fan," Willie shrugged. "I understand you're all about his Maine seascapes but, c'mon, he's no Thomas Eakins."

"What?" Sam's brow furrowed as the trio looked with surprise at the young man.

"Just a matter of personal taste. I prefer Eakins' tone and realism."

"Is that so?"

"Anyway, I was hopin' to show Maggie some of the post-impressionists. I hear they got an excellent collection. That is, honey, unless you wanna hit the neo-classical sculptures first, 'cause you're gonna love them."

"Sure, Willie, uh, whatever."

"Cool." He took his wife's arm. "Why don't we meet you guys at the café later this afternoon?" He led Maggie away into the main building.

"What was all that about, Willie? Why were you so rude?"

"I just wanted to spend some time alone with you." They entered the first hall. "And I want to show you this Sewer-rat. It's called _The Models_."

"So it is," Maggie replied, checking the card on the wall as Willie checked the notes written on his palm. "I believe his name is pronounced Seurat."

"Yeah," he grinned. "It's one of my favorites."

"Because it has naked women?"

"Excuse me, this is _art_. Because he actually put another painting of his in the background, the one called, uh, Sunday on some Island. Old George here did pointyism; he's pretty much the boss of the whole neo-impressionistic movement."

"I see," Maggie eyed him dubiously.

"My other favorite is _Starry Night, _but that ain't here. Crazy guy painted it looking out his window at the nut house."

And so Willie talked his way through the 19th Century impressionists, European and American. He was at a loss, however, in the contemporary exhibits where the couple observed room after room of crazy splashes of paint or bizarre surrealistic images.

"So, tell me, big shot, what does this say to you?"

"It says somebody spilled shit all over their canvas." He snuck a peek at the card. "Or maybe this guy used color to make a statement about inhumanity."

Finally, turning a corner, the couple encountered a depiction of something Willie actually recognized. "Hey, look, it's a pipe!"

Then he read the caption: _Leci n'est pas une pipe._ (1)

They proceeded through the galleries of Baroque, Rococo and Realism, but Willie started to fidget. The paintings reminded him too much of the portraiture at the Old House and Collinwood. Maggie found him staring of a portrait of a 18th Century man in a red frock coat. She moved on to the next room, but returned ten minutes later to find him in the same spot.

"Willie?" She nudged his shoulder. "Come and see what I…Willie?" She tried to turn him away from the painting, but he wouldn't budge. "You're shaking; what's the matter?"

"It's him. It's Barnabas."

"It is not; now stop it." She checked the card. "This is_ Portrait of an Etonian, _whatever that ? The card says it was painted in _England_."

"That's where Barnabas went to school. He's a lot younger here, but that's him, I can tell. He talked to me."

Maggie grabbed Willie's arm and yanked him away. "Do me a favor, don't say anything to Pop about this. Now, we're going to act normal, walk quietly into the next room and look at the funny furniture. Got it?"

"Okay."

Willie looked over his shoulder as they left, checking to see if the eyes were following him.

* * *

On the way home, the group dined at a Chinese restaurant. Willie smirked when the others asked for egg foo young and chop suey. Speaking to the waiter in Mandarin, the young man conversed briefly before asking if he could order something not on the American menu. Then he made a comment, obviously referring to the other members of his party, which made the server laugh.

"Willie, what did you say about us?" Maggie asked. "And when did you learn to speak Chinese?"

"When I lived there for a few years. And Chinese ain't a language, there's all different dialects: I just know a little Mandarin and some Cantonese from when me and Jason were in Hong Kong."

"Another fascinating revelation," Sam commented. "First we find out you're an art expert, now a multi linguist."

"What were you doing there?" Joe asked with a smile. "Were you a spy? Secret agent?"

"Actually, we did do some undercover work for the government, but I can't really talk about it. You know."

Sam looked at him disbelieving, but the young man wasn't lying. Not exactly. He and Jason did a bit of money laundering on the side. Mostly, though, Willie worked as a mule for smuggled drugs and black market contraband. A great deal of the time, he had no idea what was contained in the packages he delivered.

"Sounds pretty impressive," Joe remarked, to which Willie just shrugged nonchalantly.

Sam just grunted and pulled out his meerschaum pipe.

"Pop, please don't smoke right now. My stomach's a little upset. I guess I did too much walking today."

"Besides," said Joe, "the food's here."

Maggie eyes bulged when the server delivered her husband's dish: deep fried little animals in a speckled red sauce. Willie plucked up a plump one with chopsticks and plopped it into a small bowl of rice.

"Oh my God, what is that?" His wife's hand went to her month in apprehension.

Willie almost burst out laughing as he dove into his delicacy.

"Hot and spicy frog. Wanna try some? Taste like chicken. This is nothin', Jason and me used to eat all kinds of weird ass stuff: dog stew, _big _rooster balls, grasshoppers, lizards, crunchy beetles—hell, all kinds of bugs. Once we had brown bats in coconut milk—that was Indonesia—the wings're chewy, kinda like beef jerky. Chicken feet are okay, but ya gotta watch out for toenails. In the market place they'll fry up anything and stick it on a skewer. But sometimes they just eat 'em raw, or even live…"

The young woman stood abruptly and raced for the ladies' room.

* * *

"Well, that was a complete disaster," Maggie berated her husband that evening in their apartment. "I don't think Pop will ever invite you anywhere again."

"Sorry I made you barf."

"Why are you so insecure, Willie? You didn't need to show off like that. It was embarrassing."

"I didn't want ya to think I was a loser."

"And these." she held up the library books. "Really? _Hamlet_ and _Impressionist Masterpieces_, or how to take a crash course in bragging."

Willie hung his head. "I didn't want ya to think I was stupid."

"Why would I think that?"

"'Cause I never been to a museum, that's why! I also never been to a ball game or a bowling alley or a play or a zoo! There, are ya happy?"

"What about a circus?" The girl asked after an uncomfortable silence. Willie hugged his knees and started to rock slightly. "I hated the circus; the clowns scared me."

"I'd protect ya. I'd kick their clown asses down the street."

Maggie laughed and pulled her husband into her arms. "It's not a crime to be poor. I'm sure your parents did their best—"

"What do you know? My mother was a drunk who wasn't married and raised me in the bar where she worked."

"Oh. Is that why you won't talk about your childhood?"

"There's nothin' to t-talk about." He shrugged, his mood instantly brightening. "Everythin' turned out fine. Lyddie went to AA and got all better. You'll see when we visit at Thanksgiving. She's a very good cook, ya know."

Maggie sighed. "Willie, I've told you a dozen times, I am not going to leave Pop all alone and run off to New York during a holiday."

"But we haveta."

"No, and I'm not going to change my mind, so stop bugging me."

"He won't be alone. He'll eat with his pretty pal, Mr. Haskell."

"And his only child." She folded her arms. "You're welcome to join us."

"Okay, first off, I am not welcome to join you. Second, they'll all eat with Joe's uncle who lives on that farm."

"So what? Are you afraid of cows now?"

"Maybe. A little." Willie had nightmares about cattle. He remembered breaking into dairy barns back when Barnabas was on a diet of bovine blood. "I think they have g-guard dogs, too."

"I'll protect you. I'll kick their doggie butts down the street."

"But I promised my mom you would come."

Maggie took his face in her hands and looked him in the eye. "You had no right to do that. We hadn't even gone on a first date, and you told her we were getting married."

"That's 'cause I got magic powers to see the future. Wait—" He squeezed his eyes shut and tapped his temple. "I'm gettin' another one right now. It's a picture of you and me, we're in a truck, drivin' to Schenectady, singin' _Over the river and through the woods_..."

"Stop it!" His wife good naturedly aimed a smack at the side of his head, but Willie expertly dodged the blow. "I know she wants to meet me; I want to meet her too—only not on a holiday. I'm sure Joe's uncle won't mind if you come along."

"It'll be weird. I don't wanna eat with folks who don't like me." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I never hadda real Thanksgivin' dinner before, not at somebody's house."

"What are you talking about?" Maggie looked incredulous. "Do you make up these stories to get sympathy?"

Willie broke into a wide grin. "Yeah, sure."

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm bat-shit crazy," he laughed. "Let's get drunk and have sex."

"Sweet talker, you know I don't drink anymore."

"Oh, yeah." Her husband didn't remember that, but pretended he did. "I'm really not s'possed to, neither. Barnabas gets m-mad; he thinks that's why I break things all the time." Willie saw her bristle at the mention of his boss's name. "How 'bout the other part?" His hand wandered beneath the blanket to the hem of her nightshirt. _"Lady, shall I lie in your lap?"_ He peeked underneath. _"I mean with my head in your lap." _He disappeared under the cover. _"Do you think I meant country matters?"_

"Is that from _Hamlet_?"

"_Ah, there's the rub," _came a muffled voice from down under.

"Just keep it down. I don't want anybody banging on the walls." Maggie switched off the light.

"I can't keep it down. Look."

"You're very funny."

"Then I will make you come with me…all the way to New York."

"That's it. Go away."

"I'll shuddup now."

* * *

(1) Translation: This is not a pipe.


	5. Thanksgiving

**Wednesday, November 24, 1982**

It was almost 11 o'clock when Willie climbed into the cab of his pickup truck. His wife passed a paper bag through the window.

"Here's a ham sandwich and a peanut butter sandwich. Try not to eat at any truck stops along the highway. They're overpriced, and have lousy food and rough characters."

"Okay."

She passed in a large thermos. "Here's your coffee. Promise you'll stop at a motel if you get too tired."

"Promise."

"Call me tomorrow." He nodded. "Do you have the pie?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have enough gas?"

"Everything's cool, Maggie. I'll see you Friday night."

"Why do you have to leave now? You're going to get there at 4 AM."

"Nah, I'll probably stop somewhere." Willie wanted to be well on his way when Julia's middle of the night phone call came. Better to tell them after the fact. But, if his servant didn't answer, Barnabas might come looking for him. "You should sleep at your Pop's tonight. It'd be…more convenient."

"I'll be fine, I'm a big girl."

"Just do it!" he snapped. "For once, do somethin' I say, will ya?"

"Alright, geez." She backed away from the truck.

Willie jumped down from the cab and grabbed her into his arms.

"Sorry—I'm sorry, it's just that I don't want anythin' bad to happen to you—again."

"Then stop squeezing so tight." She looked at him. "So you really haven't blocked everything from your mind, have you?"

"I dunno. Some stuff I wish I could."

"No, don't ever forget…and don't ever forgive."

"I won't forget you."

"You do and I'll kick your blond butt down the street." Willie began to kiss her all over but she pulled back in embarrassment. "Not out here where everybody can see."

"It's dark. They're all in bed."

"Except for Mrs. Riddle peeping out the window." Willie waved and smiled at Mrs. Riddle. "Stop it, she already thinks you're odd." Maggie gave him a little push. "Go, if you're going."

The young man folded his arms, waiting for the answer to his request. "Well?"

"Fine. I'll call Pop to come pick me up."

"Not now; he'll be too sloshed to drive."

"Then I'll call Joe."

"Uh uh," he shook his head. "Get in, I'll give ya a lift."

"There's things I want to do first."

"No, there ain't." Maggie gave out a little scream as Willie scooped her into his arms and walked around the truck. "I'm kidnapping you."

"Be careful! I could fall!" He deposited his burden in the passenger seat, and not a second too soon. Boy, was she getting heavy. "Watch out, I almost sat on the pie!"

Willie threw the truck in gear and took off down the road.

"You realize this is the complete opposite direction," the young woman reminded him.

"Just lookin' after my wife. Sometimes ya gotta take care of people whether they want it or not."

"Yes, lord and master," Maggie smiled. "Whatever you say."

The young man smiled back. "I like that. You can call me that from now on."

It felt good to win an argument for a change, like he was the boss.

"You don't have to walk me to the door." She descended awkwardly from the cab and slid to the ground. "Drive carefully and have a good time tomorrow." Maggie blew him a kiss and walked away.

"You too," he called after her. "Stay upwind of them nasty cows." Willie suddenly jumped from the cab and chased his wife to the front door. "You didn't say bye or give me a kiss."

"I did so."

"Again." Maggie kissed him. "Again." She kissed him again. "Again."

"You don't have to go, you know," Maggie said with a sly smile.

"Yes, he does," Sam was standing behind them in the open doorway. "Stop doing that on my front steps."

"Oh, Pop, we were just saying goodnight." She walked past her father into the cottage.

Willie stood at the bottom of the steps, hands thrust in his pockets, waiting for the door to shut in his face.

"Er, drive safely," Sam mumbled. "Watch out for deer in the road. Pesky animals will run right out in front of your car."

"Yessir. I'll be careful."

Sam swayed a bit as Maggie caught him up and led the old man away. With a wink to Willie, she quietly closed the door.

* * *

It was going to be a long, lonely trip, so his dead partner, Jason, showed up to keep Willie company and help him stay awake. They reminisced about long stretches of driving they did in the old days, about which were their favorite cities, and which were their favorite scams. Just like in the good old days, Willie drove and Jason talked.

Suddenly a little girl appeared on the seat between them.

"Christmas hymns!" she announced brightly. "Let's all sing!"

The young man almost swerved off the road. "Sarah, what are you doin' here?"

"There was no one to play with, and I was lonesome, so I followed the Irishman." She explored the dashboard. "David has music boxes, is this yours? How does it work?"

Willie switched on the radio. The child didn't know the words to _Have a Holly Jolly Christmas_, but bounced in her seat as Jason sang along with Burl Ives. Then she cuddled up under the arm of the Old House servant.

"Don't lean on me, I'm drivin'," Willie said.

"You have to sing."

"I don't like to, and I don't like Christmas carols, so don't push your luck."

"Don't mind him, dear girl," McGuire pulled the spirit away. "He always was a sharp-tongued lad and gets grumpy when he's tired. Come sit with Uncle Jason."

Willie switched to the other station, but they were subjected to more seasonal tunes.

_What child is this, who, laid to rest  
__On Mary's lap is sleeping…_

"Hey, Jason, they ain't the right words. It goes: _There was a dusky Eurasian maid, in old Karachi she plied her trade—_"

"That's not somethin' we sing near the wee one," the Irishman interrupted. "This is a slight variation on the version I taught you."

Willie shrugged. "Don't sound that funny to me."

"I do not know these hymns," Sarah sniffed as she curled into a ball and went to sleep. Slowly, her visage faded and disappeared.

For the remainder of the trip, Jason read to his partner from _Hamlet_, beginning with the scene in which the ghost of his father appears to young prince, demanding revenge for his murder most foul.

_Remember me. _

* * *

Well, his wife was right, as wives always are, and the young man landed in the suburbs of Schenectady in the early hours of the morning. Willie had forgotten that he was supposed to stop at a motel, and he was too far from the highway to find anything now. He pulled out an old blanket stuffed in the back and laid across the bench car seat to catch a little shut eye. His head ended up in Jason's lap, but neither man nor specter remarked on it. Willie awoke a few hours later with a crick in his neck. The sun had risen and he was alone.

Willie took a deep breath. His heart was pounding as he rang the doorbell with a slightly trembling hand. _Smile._

The door opened and there stood a smiling, middle aged man in pajamas and robe, the picture of suburban fatherhood.

"Bill! Come in." Willie stepped over the threshold and dropped his duffle bag. "Richard Harrison. It's so good to meet you; I'm your stepdad." He shook hands with the visitor and began to pull him into an embrace, but the pumpkin pie in Willie's other hand got in the way and was almost crushed.

"Oh, sorry, sir!" Willie pulled back awkwardly as a fat bulldog waddled with excitement around his legs, dribbling urine behind her as she went.

"Please, call me Rick. Do you prefer Willie or Bill?"

"I-I don't care. Here." He held out the pie. "This is from my wife. They made it at the place where we work."

"Thank you." Then he called to two golden-haired youngsters parked in front of the TV set, eating donuts. "Children, say hello to your brother."

"Hello, brother!" they called without looking away from the Thanksgiving Day parade. "Dad, come here, it's Underdog!"

The boy's mother burst through the kitchen door, looking a little flustered, carrying paper towels.

"Big Bill! Kiss me, but don't touch my hands, I'm cleaning the turkey." She handed the towels to her husband who started to wipe up the floor. "That's Matilda, she gets nervous around strangers. She wants you to pet her."

"Uh, hi." Willie crouched down and cautiously patted the dog's head. Matilda wiggled the back half of her body in the course of wagging her tail.

Lydia looked behind him. "Where's Maggie?"

"Oh, uh, she has a cold, she's sick and hadda stay home, but she sent a pie. S-She didn't touch it or anything."

"Is her dad taking good care of her?" Willie nodded. "Good. Well, I'm glad you were still able to come."

The young man smiled. "Me too."

* * *

"Something's burning." Richard suddenly looked up from his crossword puzzle. "Lydia, are you okay?"

Willie was sitting around the coffee table with Ricky and Jocelyn admist a sea of board games: Monopoly, Parcheesi, Life and Sorry. He jumped up and flew out of the room before anyone else was out of their seat. The oven door gaped open and the charred poultry sent smoke throughout the kitchen.

"I burnt it again!" His mother sat at the table crying. "Every year I ruin the turkey."

Richard brushed past his stepson and put his arm around Lydia. "It's alright, honey. There's always some parts we can still eat."

"I didn't know you cooked Cajun." Willie sprung into action, grabbing two tea towels as potholders, and rescued the smoking roaster to the top of the stove. "I seen worse than this. Much worse." Lydia continued to cry, as Willie approached her. "Mom, I can fix it. It won't look too pretty, but it'll taste okay."

"But you're our guest…"

"I thought I was your son, and I wanna help. Will ya let me do that?" Lydia nodded, sniffing. "Do ya got some kinda gravy mix?" She pointed to a counter which contained all the fixings for a gourmet meal. There was a box of Stovetop Stuffing, Mrs. Paul's Sweet Potatoes, frozen succotash, Pillsbury crescent rolls, a can of cranberry sauce and two jars of Heinz turkey gravy. "Perfect. I can handle this, and the kids can help. Send 'em in and you two set the table. Real nice now, with folded napkins."

His parents left the room and Willie began to pull off blackened skin from the bird, after which he planned to cut up the salvageable bits and drown them in a bowl of gravy; that would help to moisten up the dried out meat. He heard raised voices from the living room, and a few minutes later, his half-siblings slammed through the door.

"I have to get changed," Jocelyn complained. "I'm going to my girlfriend's later, so I can have a real dinner. Mom does this every year, you know."

"You ain't goin' nowhere. If we were all helpin' her to begin with, maybe this wouldn't 'a happened. What're you, eight?"

"Nine." She scowled, folding her arms.

"Good, then you can read directions. Start with the stuffin'. Brother can do the yams."

"Since when do kids have to cook?" Ricky demanded. "Don't you know it's dangerous to go near the stove?"

"Why don't you start bein' a Jedi knight and stop actin' like a sissy, or I'm gonna call you Little Dick from now on."

"You were a lot nicer in my dream."

"I still have the picture you drew of Luke Skywalker."

"It was a picture of you, and that was just in my dream."

"It was magic," big brother corrected him, "and now we're gonna make some more. Let's get this party started."

* * *

It was, in Willie's opinion, the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. He had two helpings of everything, did not shovel his food, and answered their questions to the best of his ability. Oh, yes, he had traveled quite a bit with his friend and business partner who had passed away. Now he lived in scenic Maine with his lovely wife where he was in the restoration business and worked for the richest guy in town. He also helped out at a very nice restaurant where Maggie was the manager. In his spare time he did framing for her father, a well-known local artist, and, yes, very soon the young couple was planning to start a family. That actually didn't sound bad—much better than saying he fucked up his life, pissed off people most of the time and was bat-shit crazy.

The parents seemed satisfied at his prospects.

Willie asked permission to make a long distance call, but there was no answer at the apartment or the Evans' cottage. _Shit_, he wanted to talk to Maggie, see if she was alright, and tell her he loved her. Then he called the Old House to apologize for taking off without permission, but no one was home there either. Everybody was somewhere celebrating turkey day with loved ones, even Willie; but he missed his wife.

Rick pulled out his instamatic camera. "Okay, Lydia and all children on the sofa. I'm sick and tired of hearing my wife complain that she has no photos of her oldest son."

"There's two pictures a' me in North Carolina. One front and one to the side."

Richard snapped an entire roll of film: he took formal pictures and silly pictures. The little kids sat in big brother's lap, hung upside down, or made rabbit ears behind his head. He hugged his mother and kissed her cheek. Even for the pretend serious pose, Willie could not stop smiling.

His stepfather graciously offered to do the dishes and, in fact, didn't look that out of place wearing an apron. Lydia took out the trash. The children tried to rekindle Willie's interest in Monopoly, but he convinced them to pull out the play money and find a deck of cards, whereupon he taught them how to play poker.

Matilda nuzzled under his elbow.

"She wants to go out. Mom usually takes her for a walk," Josey explained.

"Sounds good." Willie grabbed his jacket. "You two practice while I'm gone, so I don't kick your butts when I get back."

"Hurry up. The movie's going to start soon."

His eyes lit up. "Is it _Wizard of Oz_?"

"No, _The Sound of Music_."

Willie wasn't interested in a film about singing children and nuns. He was hoping to see how green the witch really was. Matilda led him down the basement stairs and through the door to the garage where, in the far corner, his mother huddled in front of a storage cabinet.

"Hey, how long does it take to—?" She slammed the cabinet door shut and spun around. "What's the matter? You been gone a long time."

"I just come here to be alone."

"Why?" He approached her warily. "What's in there?"

"Nothing." He reached past her to open it. "No, don't—" Willie pulled out a pint of vodka, and Lydia began to cry again.

"Don't do that," her son said, slipping the bottle in his pocket. "We gotta walk the dog. Where's the leash?"

Lydia, Matilda and Willie strolled down the street, their breath vaporizing in the crisp night air. When they reached the corner playground, Willie sat on a bench as Lydia released the bulldog to run in the field before joining him. The young man lit a cigarette and offered one to his mother.

"No, I don't smoke anymore."

"You don't drink either." She took the cigarette.

"I can explain."

Willie shrugged. "Don't bother, unless you wanna talk about it."

She blew her nose. "I don't have an excuse."

"I bet you got twenty. You're bored. You're sad. You're not a good enough wife, or mother. They expect too much from you, keep the house all clean, cook fancy meals, volunteer at every stupid thing, and you're still not as important as someone with a real job. Your neighbors are all cluckin' busybodies, and your dog pees on the floor. It's hard spendin' your whole day pretendin' to be somethin' you're not...I know."

"I won't drink anymore."

"Don't say that if ya don't mean it. Not to me." He pulled the bottle from his jacket. "You got more of these around?"

"No, that's the only safe hiding spot. Richard's not very handy around the house."

"Good." He took a swig and grimaced. "I been wantin' a drink all day. Now, you and me are gonna finish this up, but before ya buy another one: Stop. Think. You could lose everythin'. I wish someone had said that to me a couple a' times."

Lydia cuddled up next to her son, as he put his arm around her. "I lost you. How could I do that?"

"That was my fault. I ran away 'cause I was scared of havin' a stepfather that wouldn't like me, and then you would dump me for that new baby. I done some awful stupid things in my life. Things I'm still payin' for."

"Aren't you happy, sweetheart?"

He hugged tighter, looking up at the stars as they peeked though the bare tree limbs. "I'm scared, Ma. I space out all the time and forget things. I think I'm goin' crazy."

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. "Depression runs in our family. Your grandmother died in a mental institution. That's when I went to live with Aunt Blanche and Uncle Bill."

Willie put on a smile. "We won't get depressed then. So, what makes you happy? I mean, besides vodka."

"My children, my husband," she answered automatically.

"Yeah. Rick really loves you; turned out he wasn't a dick at all. And your kids'll turn out fine if ya don't spoil 'em so much and slap 'em around a little." Matilda scampered back to inform the couple that she had concluded her evening constitutional. "Rick's not so handy, huh? Well I am. If you look up _handyman_ in the dictionary, it says _see Willie Loomis_." He smiled. "Make me a list of stuff that's broke, and I'll see what I can fix tomorrow before I go."

Before they entered the house, Lydia pulled from her pocket two breath mints and a bottle of spray cologne.

"Boy, you come prepared, Willie said. "I'll just take the mint."

* * *

That night, Willie slept in Ricky's bed, and the boy utilized a sleeping bag on the floor.

"Mom says they used to call you Chilly Willie. Why did they do that? Did you have a red hat?"

"Shuddup. Go to sleep."

"I have two light sabers if you want to play _Star Wars_ tomorrow. You can be Luke Skywalker, the hero."

"Then who are you?"

"I'm Luke Skywalker too."

"That makes no sense. I'll be the crook—what's-his-name, Hans. And Josey can be Princess Leah."

"She's going shopping at the mall tomorrow."

"No, she ain't, 'cause I told her I'd put polish on her nails."

"What? That's girl stuff."

"Nah, looks to me like paintin' detail, like I do on chair rails. Besides, you're the sissy, not me."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay." They were silent for a moment. "Do the kids beat ya up at school?"

"Sometimes," the boy sniffed, "because I'm short."

"No, 'cause you let 'em. Punch in the nose, punch to the throat, kick in the balls. They won't bother ya anymore."

* * *

The following day, as Willie prepared to leave, Lydia pulled him aside and pressed a handkerchief into his hand.

"These are for your wife; it's a wedding present." Willie opened the cloth to reveal Elizabeth Stoddard's sapphire earrings. "They were given to me by—Bill, I think I have a guardian angel, and one night it visited our house while we were sleeping."

Willie stared at the jewels for a moment, then put them on his mother. "You got a guardian angel who's gonna take good care 'a you, so you gotta wear these, to the grocery store and ev'rywhere, like a magic charm."

It sounded reminiscent of her son's fantastical childhood stories, but Lyddie agreed and kissed him goodbye. Willie promised to bring Maggie to visit at Christmastime.


	6. A Rogue and Peasant Slave

**December 1982**

_Holy kringle crap,_ Christmas was coming, that celebration of greed revered around the world by little children and pickpockets. This year Willie wanted to buy presents for all his loved ones, a situation with which he had no prior experience. Maggie would need something truly wonderful to make her forget whatever spectacle Joe would pull out of his ass. And Sam, although not exactly a loved one, might be more amenable toward his son-in-law with a bow-tied bottle of single-malt scotch under the tree.

Most of all, Willie wanted to send something real nice to his family in upstate New York. With the workload Dr. Hoffman was piling on her assistant, it looked like another visit was not going to happen as soon as promised.

All that was going to take a boatload of money.

Everything in the window was sparkly. He could shoplift one of those. If Jason were there to cause a diversion, he could slip it in his pocket and take off…or if he had someone's credit card…

"What has you so enraptured?" There was a tap on his shoulder. "Willie?" He turned to see Julia handing him a cardboard cup of coffee. It took the young man a few seconds to register who she was. "You've been standing there for 15 minutes."

The couple was gazing in the display window of an extravagant jewelry store. "I was just thinkin' about Christmas presents. Do ya think Barnabas would give me a bonus or somethin'?"

"I doubt it would be sufficient to shop in there," she chuckled in her condescending Julia Hoffman way. "Come along, it's time for our appointment." The doctor locked arms with Willie and guided him toward the truck. "Do you remember how to get to North Cumberland Memorial?"

"'Course I do. I been to ev'ry damn hospital in the state.."

Willie watched in apprehension as two burly men wheeled out a sheet-covered gurney from the service entrance to the white pickup and loaded an enormous ice chest and a large zippered bag.

"J-Julia, how am I gonna carry that into the house by myself? And what the hell is in there? That can't be just blood."

Dr. Hoffman put her finger to his lips. "Go wait in the truck. We'll talk later."

Willie's leg twitched uncontrollably as he sat behind the wheel and watched in the rearview mirror as Julia handed a shopping bag of cash to the questionable gentlemen. They secured the tarp and the back flap before the doctor ascended, somewhat awkwardly, into the cab.

"I wish there was a pull-down step there. That's quite a climb."

The driver stared straight ahead, gasping hoarsely. "I can't breathe. It hurts. I think I'm havin' a heart attack."

"Oh, Willie, calm down, you're fine."

"I'm not fine, I can't breathe!" Clutching his chest, the young man began to shake all over and hyperventilate.

"If you can tell me that you can't breathe, then you can. You're having an anxiety attack." She rummaged through her purse. "Hold on, I'll get you a tranquilizer."

"That's a dead body, isn't it? There's a dead body in there."

"No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

Willie's head shot in her direction. "Are you tellin' me that's _not_ a dead body back there?"

The doctor looked away and cleared her throat. "…Not a whole one," she replied under her breath.

"Fuck, Julia!" he just about screamed. "What're ya doin' with dead bodies?"

"Lower your voice. This is not the place to discuss it; we need to get out of here." She popped a capsule in his mouth. "Pull out of the driveway. Now."

They drove in silence for a short while. Barnabas had forced the boy to bury a few cadavers early in their acquaintance. One was a young woman named Jane whose picture appeared on the front page of the newspaper. Another was Jason, but nobody gave a rat's ass when he went missing. There may have been others; he couldn't remember. It seemed such a long time ago, but Willie still had nightmares about it. The corpses grabbed at him from their graves, called to him…

"I don't wanna do this." The assistant shook his head emphatically. "It ain't right."

"No one is being hurt, and Barnabas will be helped. Now, you want to help Barnabas, don't you?"

Willie frowned as he concentrated on the road. "Ya shouldn't give me pills when I'm drivin'."

"Then stop being irrational. It's not as if I'm asking you to go digging in a cemetery."

"You gotta get somebody else."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know any other experienced grave robbers. That is how you and Barnabas met, is it not?"

"I-I don't remember. I think I mighta been drunk."

"This is a very important experiment, Willie, and you are vital to its success. You are helping to save many lives."

Her driver didn't answer. Julia was always handing him some bullshit line and talking to him like he was an imbecile, a word he learned from Roger Collins. But there was no point in arguing with her about it now. She would only tattle to Barnabas, who would get pissed and reprimand Willie. The young man couldn't recall what a reprimand was, but there was a better than average chance he wouldn't like it.

* * *

Shoulders hunched, head down, Willie walked hurriedly toward the hardware store. He wasn't particularly pressed for time, but his thoughts were racing, and his body felt a need to keep apace. Besides, his leather jacket was designed for style, not warmth, and there was a bitter wind coming from the north.

He thought of demanding more money for his oh-so-valuable contributions to Julia's voodoo project. She and Barnabas had bags of it to throw around; why shouldn't he get some? Only that would be like saying what they were doing was okay, and that he approved.

But where else was he going to get his hands on some cash? Last year Barnabas had tossed him a $10 bill at Christmas, which was fine at the time, because he had no real expenses and used it to buy a bottle of cheer. Now $10 wouldn't buy squat, not with six people on Santa's list, if you didn't count Joe. Why the hell should he get a present for Joe, anyway? He didn't even like the guy. Pretty Boy needed to get a friend his own age, find someone else to date and move on. It was like he was just waiting for Loomis to fuck up so he could…

Willie ran slam bang into a shopper exiting the gift and souvenir shop. Both ended up on the ground, and the man's packages scattered everywhere. _Holy Christmas balls_, it was Burke Devlin. Willie jumped to his feet and prepared to take flight. _No, play it cool._ Devlin wouldn't slug him out on the street in broad daylight.

"Sorry!" He reached over and helped the large man to his feet. "It was an accident. I wasn't watchin' where I was goin'." Willie started to gather the shopping bags and boxes that scattered.

"And I couldn't see over that pile I was carrying." He let Willie restack the bundles in his arms. "Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas."

_Sir?_ Willie stared incredulously. "Uh, yeah, s-same to you." He made a hasty exit into the store before Devlin changed his mind and recovered from his holiday spirit.

When the handyman reached to pay for his purchases, he pulled out two wallets. Shocked, he stole a look around and shoved the nice looking billfold back in his pocket, quickly finalized the transaction, and strolled casually out the door.

_Holy plumfuckers on parade._ He had lifted Burke Devlin's wallet. The Collins' caretaker was officially dead meat. Why the hell would he do that, and without even realizing it? Maybe it was second nature or something, or something a crazy person would do.

The only thing to do was to get it back, only no one would believe him if he claimed to have found it on the street—not the nefarious Willie Loomis. He could drop it in a mailbox and proceeded to do just that—but first, the young man reasoned, he might as well take the cash, since it would undoubtedly disappear by the time the property was returned. He fingered through the bills: 10, 20, 25, 30, 40 dollars, and a condom.

_Bad Burke._ _Are you taking advantage of our dear Miss Winters—or cheating on her?_ Willie pocketed the contents and proceeded to browse the credit cards. He could buy anything with those—diamonds rings and mink fur coats, but then he was sure to get nabbed. Jason always said to keep your nose clean in small towns, and this was as small as you get. His last attempt to borrow a stranger's credit card resulted in a nine-month prison sentence, and he couldn't go to jail now. Barnabas would be mad, and Maggie would be even madder.

Tucked behind the driver's license was a photograph of a couple, with an inscription on the back: _Zach and Rachel 1980_. Willie did a double take and scrutinized the license: Zachery Wilson, 734 Stern Lane, Logansport, ME. Organ Donor.

"Huh." He looked again at the photograph. The man had a wavy carrot-top mop and a mustache; He wasn't Burke Devlin, looked nothing like the man. Willie shrugged as he dumped the billfold down the mail chute. That explained why he was so polite.

With his windfall, Willie headed to the 5&10 to go holiday shopping. He bought his stepfather a deluxe, leather-bound crossword puzzle book, two bottles of fancy nail polish (red and green) for Josey, and 20 packets of Star Wars trading cards for Ricky. Each packet came with five cards and a stick of stale bubble gum. For Lydia he picked out a treetop angel with a real porcelain head. A guardian angel. There was enough left over for a decent bottle of scotch for Mr. Evans. He still wasn't sure what to get for Maggie, but he knew it had to be special.

* * *

It was lying in what looked like a perverse jigsaw puzzle on the examination table. Guts and organs, some connected to each other in places, in a hideous pulsating blob. Willie stared in horror as he backed out of Julia's laboratory and tore down the steps, his only thought to get away as fast as that clunker truck could carry him. Dr. Hoffman grabbed him at the foot of the stairs.

"Willie, it's alright; calm down."

"I'm having a d-dream. A really horrible dream and I need to wake up now. You have to shoot me or somethin' so I'll wake up."

"Come into the parlor and sit."

"No! I'm outta here!" He broke away and flew down the hallway toward the servants' entrance.

"I have your keys." Willie stopped, turned and held out his hand. "You may not leave in this condition. Now have a seat and I will explain what you saw."

The handyman complied, sitting in one of the wingback chairs instead of his usual spot on the floor in front of the fire.

"Okay, doctor, explain to me why you're pluggin' together dead body parts."

Julia smiled modestly. "I know it doesn't look like much now, but I am creating a new living organism."

"Most people just have babies."

"No, no, this won't be a thinking, feeling person. It will be more like a machine—one that will generate blood." The young man stared at her in disbelief. "A never ending supply of fresh, human blood for Barnabas. Don't you see? He'll never have to attack or kill again. And no one was harmed—I merely recycled leftover autopsies from John Does that were headed for cremation anyway, and…a few donated organs. When we are finished, Barnabas will have his own personal blood bank."

Willie considered the argument. "It don't sound right. You're gonna bring this guy to life and just use him, and he don't get to say nothin' about it. I mean, won't he have a brain? What if he gets sad or bored or it hurts him?"

"It won't be a _person_ in that sense. Yes, of course it'll have a brain, but it won't process except to stimulate bodily functions. It will have no conscious thought, no more than your truck. All it will do is consume energy, create output and circulate blood."

"You're makin' a monster. Bad things always happen when people make monsters."

The doctor sighed. "This is a medical breakthrough, not mad science. Think of the doors this will open, Willie. Think of the lives it will save, and not just vampire victims. We will create the ability to harvest human blood for vital transfusions, to produce stem cells, regenerate organs; oh, think of the possibilities."

Willie didn't want to look stupid, but just couldn't wrap his brain around the idea. "If it's such a good thing, then why don'tcha call the newspaper and do it in a big hospital instead of snatchin' bodies in back alleys?"

"Well, because it's not exactly legal."

"Yeah, and there's a reason why it's not exactly legal: Because it's bat-shit crazy, like all your other experiments. Sorry, but I can't help ya anymore." He jumped up from his chair. "I gotta keep my nose clean. My wife would kill me if she found out."

"And what would your wife do if she found out some other things?" Julia settled further back into her chair and Willie slowly sat again.

"W-what other things, doctor?" he asked warily.

"Oh, I can't remember them all, let me check my notes." She pulled out a small, red leather book and referred to it. "Let's see, you went to reform school at age 10 for robbing a neighbor, then had an illicit relationship with a priest. You ran away at 15 to work as a prostitute, petty criminal and drug dealer, lied your way onto numerous ships with forged documentation, killed endangered species to sell on the black market in Asia, attempted to scam a businessman in Panama out of 2.5 million dollars, went to prison for credit card fraud, and abetted Mr. McGuire's blackmail of Elizabeth Stoddard. Let's top it off with your career as a raging alcoholic that culminated with grave robbing the Collins family tomb." She looked up. "Shall I go on? Shall I talk about the men and women you procured for your boss, the bodies you buried or the dairy farms…"

"How do you know all this?" Willie asked quietly. His left leg started to bounce uncontrollably. "Did Barnabas tell you?"

"You told me, dear boy, when I hypnotized you for your drinking problem. Oh, maybe not the first time, but during the two or three after that." She referred to her notebook. "Oh, here's another. How could I forget? You shot and most probably murdered a police officer. The details were not forthcoming so I imagine it was rather gruesome."

"It wasn't like you're makin' it sound. I thought you were sorta my friend, Julia, y-you helped me get married." His voice started to crack. "Why do ya wanna ruin everythin'? I work hard for you."

"And you must continue to work hard for me." Julia walked over to the boy's chair and brushed the hair back from his eyes. "I don't mean to be cruel, Willie, but nothing must interfere with this project. It's entering a critical phase and we'll need you close by. I can't wait for you to show up when you're finished washing dishes or taking day trips."

Willie looked up at her. "W-what do ya mean?"

"I want you to telephone your wife now, and tell her you'll be taking a leave of absence from your other job. You will also be moving out of your apartment and back into the Old House for a while. I don't care how you explain it. Say Barnabas has a major renovation that requires your undivided attention, or perhaps you need a trial separation. You decide what's best."

Willie watched as Dr. Hoffman ignited a foot-long matchstick and proceeded to light the candles about the parlor with systematic precision. Julia was forcing him to give up everything: his life, his wife, his party palace. But if Maggie learned about his wicked past, she would hate him forever. He was going to lose it all, either way.

"I hadda do it, Sheriff," the young man spoke softly. "I hadda kill her. She was gonna pour gasoline on me, so I swung that fire poker over there. No, the big one. I just meant to whack her so I could escape, but then, _whoosh_, her head came right off. That's when I got the idea to hang it on the front door, you know, as a warnin' to other mad scientists and crazy bitches."

"Willie, are you talking to yourself?"

"I said, _what a rogue and peasant slave am I_."

"You've been reading _Hamlet_," Julia smiled, continuing her task. "Barnabas will be so pleased. I know how much he misses your _discussions_." Her tone was mildly sarcastic.

Willie stood by the hearth and picked up a fire poker. The big one. The young man turned and swung the weapon full force into the back of his chair.

"_How now! A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead!"_ He beat the chair until upholstery stuffing began to seep through the slices he created.

"Willie, control yourself. Stop that at once." The doctor spoke with steel-faced authority but did not approach him. In fact, she backed towards the archway.

The handyman abruptly ended his tirade. "Sure, okay. I'm sorry." He turned and proceeded to vent his anger instead on the fireplace header.

"Willie!" Barnabas stood in the doorway and, in a flash, was across the room, wrenching the rod from the vandal's hands. "You are defacing Florentine marble!"

But the servant showed no remorse._ "Thou wretched, rash, intrudin' fool! I took thee for thy better."_

Barnabas had no patience for such nonsense early in the evening and sent the servant toppling over the mistreated chair with a stinging slap.

"He doesn't improve, he retrogresses," the master remarked to Julia. "Destructive, disrespectful—"

"Disobedient, disturbed—very disturbed," the servant interrupted.

"At times like this, I actually miss Harry Johnson."

Willie swiftly scrambled to his feet, mindful that you have to stand up to these vampires, or they will bully you.

"You can't make me stay here," he announced with jutting chin. "And you can't make me mess around with them dead bodies."

Barnabas impatiently returned his servant to the floor with a backhand; Willie scurried to the nearest corner. _Safe place. This is my safe place._

"I've warned you. Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do."

"You can't do that neither!" the boy hollered defiantly, wiping the blood from his cheek. "You can't hurt me like before, 'cause I got someone now who cares about me, and she'll know!"

"That reminds me: I told Willie to call his wife," Julia interjected, "and inform her that he will be living here from now on."

"I don't think that necessary," Barnabas replied. "When Mrs. Loomis fails to hear from her husband, she will conclude he is off on another spree of drinking and carousing and, no doubt, be done with him once and for all."

"No, she won't!" Willie yelled from the floor. "She'll know it was you. Maggie knows all about you, 'cause I told her everythin'. She'll come lookin' for me, and have you arrested!"

Barnabas yanked the servant to his feet. "You did what?"

Willie swallowed as he eyes widened. "Uh, nothin'."

The older man backed him to the wall. "You betrayed me to Maggie Evans, the vampire slayer."

"D-don't listen to me, I'm crazy."

The vampire pressed his body against Willie's, cupped the back of his head, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. Barnabas whispered in his ear, "You shouldn't have done that." With carnivorous greed, he sank his fangs into Willie's neck.

Julia watched uncomfortably for a few minutes as her husband locked the servant into his embrace. Without comment, she left the room.


	7. The Morning After

Willie was standing on the beach, clutching at his abdomen. A gigantic gray shark with fangs had taken a big chomp out of him, and guts and innards were spilling out all over the place. On his knees, the young man tried to shove his organs back where they belonged, but they were getting covered with sand and he figured that couldn't be good.

It was risky, but the ocean seemed calm and there was no ominous music in the background, so Willie made his way back into the water to rinse off. He walked too far, too fast, got pulled out by a riptide and down by the undertow, disappearing under the waves. The boy scrambled futilely but sank like a stone, deeper and deeper, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Then the music began, a pulsating rhythm muffled by the water as the shark appeared in the murky depths, first above him, then diving beneath with gaping jaws.

Willie grappled at the air as he woke up screaming. His heart pounded as the servant slowly realized he was in his old third-floor bedroom. The oil lamp burned warmly and Barnabas sat complacently at his bedside, looking more pleasant than he had in months.

"Oh good, you're awake." The master smiled happily. "Forgive the intrusion. I know this sounds absurd but, in truth, I have somewhat missed your company of late. Your return promises to be a refreshing change."

The young man felt his midsection under his shirt to make sure all the pieces where there, then collapsed back onto his mattress with a wave of nausea.

"Of course, Julia is a fine companion. One could not ask for a more devoted wife, and she is very attentive to one's needs, if you understand of which I speak—"

Bile rose in his throat as Willie listlessly waved the man away.

"Except on one subject," the vampire continued in confidence. "She won't permit me to—you know—on the neck. Personally, I think it's a control issue. She supplies me with more than enough blood, but in those antiseptic, plastic hospital bags." He made a sour face. "Dear woman doesn't realize the thrill of restraining a breathing creature in one's embrace, smelling its warm flesh, sapping its strength…"

Willie leaned over the side of the bed and puked into the waste basket where Barnabas, with his nimble reflexes, had placed it seconds before.

"Poor lad. Here I am, going on about my personal predicament, while you suffer." With a damp washcloth, he dabbed the servant's face. "Julia says you have a dreadful fever, although I cannot tell. I thought your reaction rather extreme, as if you had never been bitten before. Why is that?" His eyes lit up. "Ah, perhaps it is a result of all those transfusions during the procedure in which you transformed from vampire back to human. That must be it, don't you think?" The vampire gently cleaned dried blood from Willie's neck, looking slightly embarrassed by the large, unsightly bruise present. "And I'm afraid I overindulged myself," he said with a small smile.

Willie deposited Round 2 of his stomach contents into the trash can as Barnabas discreetly backed away from the distasteful odor, holding a scented handkerchief to his nose.

"You must rest now; we want you back in top form, and tomorrow will bring new adventures." The master reached behind him for the doorknob. "The time has come for me to retire for the day, and so I shall take my leave of you."

The master silently closed the door behind him.

_You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal… except my life… except my life…except my life._

* * *

Willie next awoke when his butt hit the floor, and he looked around, again dazed and disoriented. How could he fall out of bed? He and Maggie kept the mattress on the floor to prevent just that from happening. It was unnaturally quiet and he had been sleeping in the middle of the day. He felt cold and sweaty at the same time. The room smelled. Dr. Hoffman was in the doorway.

"Not again." She pulled Willie up and tucked him back into bed, then gave the young man a cursory once-over, peering into his eyes, feeling his forehead. "I have never seen anyone squirm around in their sleep like you. Do I need to restrain you to the bedpost?"

"Don't do that."

The doctor held out two pills and a glass of water, but Willie backed away. "It's just Tylenol, for your fever. Now, please, I have other things to do." Julia mopped the sweat from his brow. "There's a tray on the dresser with orange juice and beef broth, which, of course, is cold now."

The boy shook his head. "Not yet, but thanks, Doc. I'm g-gonna sleep some more." He buried his head in the pillow until he heard the door close and footsteps retreat down the hall.

_Sucker._

Willie sprang upright, but the sudden momentum made his head pound and he almost went down again. The room was still spinning as he forced himself to stand and felt his way to the dresser. _Food smell._ The young man turned away, stomach lurching, and searched for—what did he need? Shoes. Jacket. Escape.

He tiptoed, partially slid, down the back stairs and could have snuck out the servants' entrance except for his keys. The young man was not up to hotwiring the truck but, fortunately, Julia's pocketbook was in the foyer and inside was what he needed.

Driving was especially difficult because the road kept moving up and down, and sometimes there were two at once, but he got to the apartment without hitting anything and reached for the knob just as door swung open. Maggie stood at the threshold with folded arms. His wife was not happy.

"Oh my, look what the cat dragged in. You look horrible." The young man was about to pass out again and stumbled toward the mattress. "Do you mind telling me where you've been since yesterday?"

"Old House." Willie crawled under the covers.

"That is a downright lie. I called there last night, worried to death, and Mr. Collins said you never showed up for work. Then I saw Dr. Hoffman this morning and still no news."

"Why would you see…oh, I don't feel good."

"No, hangovers don't feel good. Well, I guess you're not going to work again tonight, not in this shape." There was no response. "Are you planning to sleep in your clothes again?"

Willie slid off his jeans and pushed them out onto the floor. A couple of dollar bills and a condom fell out.

"What is this?" She held up the packet.

"Nothin', it's nothin'; I dunno." He fumbled with his shirt buttons as she knelt on the mattress and reached over to assist.

"I guess that's nothing, too."

"Huh?"

"Congratulations, it's the biggest hickey I've ever seen." All of a sudden Maggie was crying—and clobbering him with flying fists. "You rotten, lying jerk!"

He tried to grab her but had no strength in his arms. It was all he could do to ward off the blows as his wife continued to batter him. Finally he garnered the momentum to push her away and she yelped in surprise, falling backwards.

"How dare you!" she spat, clumsily pulling herself up as he tried to explain. "Shut up, I am not speaking to you, do you hear? I'm going home. Don't follow me and don't come to the diner ever again. You're fired!"

Willie fell back onto the mattress. Maybe this is what Julia meant by a trial separation.

* * *

It was past sunset when Willie next awoke. His strength had returned and his head no longer felt like it was stuffed with cotton as he reached for the lamp. Her clothes were still in the closet, but Maggie was gone.

Once again, Willie belonged to the vampire, body and soul. It would be looking for him soon, calling to him from the corridor in his mind, the one only he and Barnabas shared. But this second time around the young man was better informed. Willie knew now he had the power to close his door and block the master's thoughts and commands, even if he was incapable of betraying or harming the monster.

Once again, Maggie was in danger.

_She knew too much to live._

Had Barnabas said that to him for real or in a dream? The vampire was sure to kill Maggie, probably tonight, and Willie knew it was all his fault because the nonsense that tumbled out of his mouth never seemed to check in with the brain beforehand. Not everything he did was crazy; some things were just stupid.

Collecting his thoughts, Willie resolved to save the woman he loved, and not muck it up like the last time and the time before. It wouldn't be easy, because she was very pissed at him at present. The young man grabbed his duffle bag and started to pack, beginning with a fistful of clothes and his collection of prescription drugs.

It took several trips to get everything set up and Willie worked tirelessly. That mental door was sealed shut in order to shield himself from Barnabas, but that also meant he had no idea what the vampire what up to. Willie showed up at the diner with a thermos just as the young woman was turning the sign on the front door.

"I told you not to come back here." She tried to close the door in his face. "Get out of my restaurant."

"Please, Maggie. Here, look." He held out the thermos. "I brought ya some tea."

"I work in a restaurant and am perfectly capable of making my own tea."

"This is your favorite, Darjeeling."

"It's too late—"

"Decaf." The young man poured hot liquid into the cup-lid and handed it to her. "I'm sorry, really sorry about last night, but it wasn't what ya think."

The manager began to count out her cash drawer. "Oh, then what was it?"

"I—can't tell ya. He won't let me, and it ain't safe for you to know." Maggie sighed in exasperation. "Look, uh, we gotta get outta here for a while, maybe take a trip."

"Are you going to start that again? I am not going to New York for Christmas."

"I was thinkin' more like the Bahamas. I bet you could use a vacation." He pointed to the register receipts. "Maybe we could, ya know, b-borrow some of that cash and then—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold it right there. Are you out of your mind?" Willie slumped in his seat, running fingers through his hair. "Or are you in some sort of trouble?"

"I can't say no more! Don't you get it? He's there, inside my head." Willie looked up to see his love staring back in dismay at her distraught husband as if he had lost his mind. "Never mind, forget it. Finish your tea and I'll drive ya home." She started to protest. "To your Pop's, I know…I understand."


	8. A Method to his Madness

_Synopsis: Maggie's life is in jeopardy, but she gets rescued, Willie Loomis style. _

* * *

Willie carefully lit the candles, all seven, and arranged them in a semicircle on the tablecloth spread out on the floor. Along the wall he lined up a few gallon jugs of water leading to the corner where canned foodstuffs were piled into a pyramid next to the can opener. He was very pleased with himself to have remembered to bring a can opener.

Maggie looked peaceful as she lay sleeping on a makeshift mattress of pillows, covered in two warm blankets. When everything was arranged as attractively as possible, Willie sat back and waited for his wife to awaken. He took one of the orange pills to stay alert.

She was unconscious all night and possibly part of the next day. Even after awakening, the young woman seemed slightly dazed and disoriented for a while afterwards. At long last, she pushed herself into a sitting position.

"What's going on? Willie, where are we?" Maggie looked around in confusion.

"Secret hiding place in a mausoleum. The Bahamas woulda been nicer, but—"

"Wait—how did I get here? I don't remember anything after—after—I was riding in your truck."

"You, uh, kinda fell asleep."

Maggie paused as she thought back to the events of the night before. Her eyes widened as a look of growing suspicion registered on her face.

"Willie Loomis—did you put something in my tea?" He sheepishly held up the bottle of blue pills. "Oh my god! Are you crazy? What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"I'm sorry, I really am, but ya wouldn't come with me, and we hadda hide. Ya see, they know about you now, so it ain't safe."

By that point Maggie was on her feet. She stalked over to her captor and stared him in the face. "Now you listen to me, and listen good: I don't know what kind of sick, paranoid fantasy you live in, but I am not in any danger, except from _you._ This is all in your imagination."

Willie smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I got it all figured out—how I'm gonna take care 'a ya. Everythin' we need's right here."

Maggie struggled to reclaim some measure of composure as she watched the madman neatly place linen napkins beneath each candlestick to catch the dripping wax, mumbling to himself as he went. "Gotta remember to keep the door in my head closed real tight or they might find us. Gotta bolt that sucker…"

At length, she attempted again, speaking to her husband as though he was a simple-minded child.

"You realize, dear, that if you force me to stay here against my will, you will be a kidnapper; do you know what that means?" Willie was familiar with the term. "I'm worried for you, honey. This is a very serious crime and you're going to get into a lot of trouble."

"I been in trouble before." Willie shrugged dismissively.

She tried a different tactic.

"But why do we have to hide? If someone is threatening me, we should just call the police."

"Oh no, that would be like a betrayal, and he don't like that. 'Sides, everybody's gonna believe them, not me," he explained patiently.

"Alright then, you and I will just have to do it ourselves," she attempted to rally his enthusiasm. "We'll just kick their evil butts down the street..."

He chuckled at her naïveté. "C'mon, you know he's got supernatural powers."

"Who?" She cried in frustration. "This makes no sense. Who the heck are you talking about?"

This time it was Willie who looked bewildered. Loomis was the one who was inclined to repress unpleasant memories, not his wife. It was she who said _never forget and never forgive_. He was hesitant to say it out loud, not after the trouble it caused last time, but she had to know what he was talking about. Why was she playing dumb?

"Certain people," he replied suggestively, but an edge of panic started to creep into his voice. "And when we get outta here, one of 'em may tell you some b-bad things about me, but none of it's true. Don't believe her—or him; they're both damn liars!" He plopped on the floor, hugging his knees. "I didn't mean to do any of that stuff, and it wasn't all my fault."

"Sure, if you say so." Maggie replied, apprehensive at his outburst. "I won't listen to a word they say." The young woman sat on the pillows and pulled Willie's head into her lap, stroking his hair. "I'm sorry if I yelled earlier," she continued calmly. "I was a little upset, but now that you've explained everything, it's okay. It's fine, because you're only trying to protect me."

Finally, she seemed to understand. With a wave of relief, Willie wrapped his arms around her waist and clung tightly.

"Honey," Maggie continued sedately. "We can leave here when it's safe again, right? How long do you think that will be?"

"Hard to say. They gotta lotta other shit goin' on, you know, with dead bodies and stuff, so maybe they'll forget about us in a few days…but I dunno."

"We can't stay here forever," her tones were soothing and soft. "Pop will worry about me, and we'll run out of supplies. Oh, sweetheart, it's so cold and damp here; you wouldn't want to do anything to harm the baby."

Willie's head popped up. _Baby?_ Was there something important that he didn't remember, or was this some sort of clever trick to escape?

Maggie massaged his tensing shoulders. "I know you pretend it isn't so, but you can't stay in denial for much longer. You're going to be a father." She placed his hand on her swollen belly, but he pulled away when something kicked it. "Don't you remember? That's why we got married."

The young man looked at her sadly. "It wasn't 'cause you loved me?"

"Willie, I hardly knew you. That weekend in Bangor should never have happened, but it did, and everything'll work out fine in the end. We'll have a nice little family and you will get psychiatric help."

* * *

A day had passed and still Willie refused to release his captive. Maggie lost patience with the disturbed man and stopped trying to cajole or reason with him. She changed from her diner uniform into sweat clothes and parked herself in a corner, plowing through can after can of food. When he tried to speak to her, the girl hollered "Shut up! I hate you!" and turned on the transistor radio, which produced only static in the stone cell, and cranked the volume.

Willie paced their boundaries like a caged animal, worried about the impending danger, worried that his wife would never forgive him, and worried about what was going down outside, especially at the Old House.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut and in his mind unbolted the door and peeked into the telepathic corridor. The vampire's door stood wide open as he relaxed before the fire while Julia sat opposite, serenely smoking a cigarette. Barnabas glanced up, nodded congenially to his servant and returned to his newspaper. Willie stood in the hallway, gaping at the couple. It was as if nothing was amiss. Surely he hadn't imagined the whole thing, like Maggie said, because that would be really embarrassing. He returned to reality, shaking his head.

"Hey, ya know what, maybe we could—" The young woman catapulted a spoonful of SpaghettiOs in his direction, and returned to her meal. Pasta rings and orange sauce dripped down his shirt front. "Okay, I know you're mad, but—" The next glop landed in his hair. "Fine! Be that way. You're not actin' very mature."

Willie slumped into his own corner and pulled out _Hamlet_, reading loudly.

"_What is the reason that you use me thus?  
I loved you ever: but it is no matter.  
Let Hercules himself do what he may,  
The cat will mew, and dog will have his day."_

With a steely look upon her face, Maggie rose and crossed to her husband, whereupon she dumped the remains of her meal on his head and dropped the can in his lap.

"I'm sick of Shakespeare."

To her surprise, Willie just laughed, "Boy, I never met anyone who likes to throw food around like you." He wiped his face with a tea towel. "I can tell you never went hungry. I know you used to pitch stuff all over back at the Old House, but I thought that was part of a big scam, pretendin' to be Josette. Remember how you used to piss him off? And every mornin' I'd pick up the broken dishes and clean your dinner off the dining room wall."

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about," Maggie responded in a monotone.

"That's 'cause the doctor brainwashed ya to forget everythin', but I told ya all about it later." The young woman shook her head in disbelief. "Maggie…I told you what happened, how you were held prisoner by a vampire—not me, the other vampire—_I told you_ and you believed me; w-why are ya lookin' at me like that?"

"I would never believe anything you said. You're delusional. I should have done something about it sooner, because now it's too late. I'm going to die in here. We're all going to die…"

* * *

The following night Maggie did nothing but holler and wail nonstop. It went on for hours. Willie was ready to stuff a sock in her mouth, understanding now how Barnabas had felt when he allowed her to run off, presumably to leap from Widow's Hill.

Overcome with stress and exhaustion, the man eventually zoned out—or passed out, it was hard to tell which—and his head slumped over onto the lumpy duffle bag.

* * *

Willie was back in his room at the Old House. Spread before the roaring fire was a similar scene: The blankets, china plates, candles and crystal—a perfect picnic date. They were both feeling pretty tipsy as Willie settled into a cocoon of pillows and Maggie cozied up beside him.

"Do you want to make love?" She whispered.

"No." Willie would not take advantage of this situation. He would stick to the plan, even if it killed him, which it probably would. "You don't want me, you just wanna escape. All ya gotta do is wait for me to fall asleep and take the truck keys. I wasn't supposed to tell you that, 'cause I'll haveta stop ya unless ya trick me."

"That won't be necessary; I have my own plan. This Josette act is all an elaborate con to put Barnabas off his guard. I'm walking out of here today, and I'm taking you with me." Willie started to protest but she put a finger to his lips. "Don't worry; nothing bad will happen ever again, because I'm going to protect you."

"Okay." He wanted to believe her. He wanted to very much.

* * *

While he slept, Maggie had methodically made her way around the room, pushing each stone in the wall, searching for the trigger mechanism that open the door and free her. The young man awoke as she approached the entrance and reached for the bottom step.

Willie flew across the room and grabbed her abruptly. As he dragged his wife away from the steps

Maggie's shrieks punished his ear drum until he clamped his hand over her mouth. She bit his hand, chomped on it good and hard, then struggled out of his grasp and shoved the man away.

"Get me out of here! Somebody! Anybody!" The woman shouted at the top of her lungs. Willie backed away, clutching his wounded hand.

"Please, Maggie, don't be mad. I'm just tryin' to—"

"Can anyone hear me! Help! Help! Help! HELP!" She continued to holler.

He sat on the floor, leaning against the cold wall. "Nobody can hear ya, so ya might as well shuddup."

Both heads snapped in the direction of the stone door as it grated against the floor, opening to reveal Barnabas and Julia as they stood at the threshold.

"Mr. Collins, thank God!" Maggie cried, rushing up the steps and into the vampire's arms. "You saved me!"

Barnabas comforted the trembling girl. "It's alright, now. I trust you're not injured." She shook her head as tears streamed down both cheeks. "That's a relief. Go now with Dr. Hoffman. Your father and young Haskell are waiting."

Julia left with the weeping woman and Barnabas entered the secret room, sighing at his blundering manservant who suddenly ducked his head, covering it with both arms.

"We convinced them to remain at the gate. Sam Evans has a firearm and you would not have left here alive. It was fortunate you revealed to me your location, because they were preparing to call in Federal law enforcement."

"I was afraid you were gonna hurt Maggie 'cause a' what I said."

"Wherever did you get that notion? Contrary to what you may think, when there is a dilemma, my first course of action is not to kill the person involved."

He looked up, lowering his arms. "It's not?" That was news to Willie.

"Julia merely paid the good woman a visit the following day and hypnotized her again. This entire venture was reckless, foolhardy and unnecessary."

"Oh, shit. Maggie's really mad at me now."

"That, my boy, is the least of your troubles. Your wife's wrath is nothing compared to that of my wife, and apparently you have disrupted her schedule. Now, blow out the candles and come home with me."

They returned to the Old House in uncomfortable silence, whereupon Barnabas marched Willie to his room and, to prevent further mischief, tied his wrists together to the brass headboard. The vampire then locked the door behind him when he left.

Now everybody was mad at him.


	9. The Ghost of Christmas Presents

**December 25, 1982**

Willie was sprung the next day by Dr. Hoffman.

"You are on the top of Santa's Naughty List this year," she remarked with what could almost be considered a sense of humor.

"I wanna change my clothes." There was no response. "Do ya mind?"

"Not at all." She folded her arms indifferently.

"Are ya gonna follow me into the bathroom too? 'Cause I gotta take a wicked piss." He caught his reflection in the mirror. "And there's SpaghettiOs in my hair."

"You have exactly five minutes. I will meet you downstairs."

Willie sat in the kitchen as Julia slammed a coffee mug on the table in front of him. It wasn't like her to make her own breakfast. Dr. Hoffman was not the domestic type. The young man could just imagine what she could do to ruin a turkey. Then again, she would probably try to bring it back to life, to harvest its gizzards and generate its own stuffing. A plucked zombie turkey would then be seen terrorizing the countryside, walking around on drumsticks.

"Are you listening to me?" Willie flinched but did not look up when the doctor shook his shoulder. "Where is your common sense? Endangering Barnabas, the experiment, your child and your wife; it could have been a disaster. The only reason you are not in jail right now is because you work for a Collins, and your boss did a lot of fast talking last night."

Julia sat across from him, looking stern and serious.

"This is the deal we made: You are now in our custody; Barnabas and I have assumed complete responsibility for your future actions, so you will follow our orders, and do not leave this house without one of us. Any attempt to bother Maggie Evans or sabotage my project again, and I will slap you in a straightjacket and cart you off to Wyndcliff Sanitarium. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Her name is Loomis, Mrs. Collins." The servant played with the spoon in his coffee. "Only, wait, you two aren't _really_ married, are ya? 'Cause your husband is dead. Couldn't show up at town hall with _his_ birth certificate, could ya?"

"Do not provoke me, young man. I can make your stay here very unpleasant, or—you can do as you're told, help implement a medical breakthrough and, just maybe, after a suitable period, Maggie will forgive you." She continued in a confidential tone, "I may be able to help that along."

"Do you just hypnotize people all the time to get whatever ya want? Is that why Barnabas does everythin' you say?"

Dr. Hoffman stood abruptly. "There are no pickups today, so you may catch up on the cleaning chores you've neglected." She leaned across the table to look him in the eye. "Barnabas and I will have Christmas dinner tonight at Collinwood, with our family, so you will have to be here alone. I don't want any trouble."

Willie shook his head. "No trouble," he whispered. It was Christmas, and his 26th birthday.

* * *

The Old House was damp and dark, silent except for wind whistling through the chimney. Back when he was a vampire, Willie could have stood on the roof and seen festive lights in the village, heard strains of caroling, but not anymore.

Christmas was the crappiest day of the year, but it wasn't always that way. When Willie was a kid, his mom's boss always gave him two dollars (one for his birthday, one for Christmas), which purchased half a year's worth of comic books. Later, at St. Jerome's Home for Boys, church groups sent each child his own box containing new toothbrushes and socks, used paperbacks and, very often, a candy cane or chocolate Santa. As a young adult, his partner presented him with an extra round of drinks and a hooker, but those good times were gone. Tonight he would shovel snow on the front portico, without even the hope of a plate of cold leftovers from Mrs. Johnson.

Gripping a single candle, Willie trudged down the basement stairs to the dairy cellar where the shovel was stored. Suddenly a hand burst through the dirt floor and grabbed him by the ankle.

"Shove off, Jason, I'm not in the mood." Willie kicked the forearm away.

"Come now, where's your holiday spirit?" His partner's ghost was now beside him, grinning. "Why, he's right here!"

"I got work to do."

"Not on Christmas! Why aren't you nestled in the bosom of your sweetheart before a toasty fire?"

"Because she hates me. I kinda drugged her and held her prisoner in a cemetery for a few days."

"Ya see now, that vampire and his woman are a bad influence on you. Well, never mind, you'll make it right. Nothin' says _I'm sorry_ like a shiny bauble." The Irishman began to rummage through his old sea chest. "Is there anythin' left ya didn't pawn?"

"I didn't pawn nothin'. Just gave somethin' to my mom, is all."

"Ah, perfect!" The ghost held up two teardrop earrings. "Emerald isles for your red-headed colleen."

"But you stole them from Mrs. Stoddard. What if somebody—?"

"Don't you worry now, 'twas meant to be. Everythin' happens for a reason."

"What if the reason is that you're stupid and make bad decisions?" he replied absentmindedly, smiling at the sparkling jewels as he held them to the candlelight.

But Jason continued to shoo him towards the stairs. "Off you go, lad. Good luck."

"No, stop. I'm not allowed to leave the house."

"Beggin' your pardon, I thought it was a grown man I was speakin' to, not some schoolboy in detention," the spirit scoffed. "The Willie Loomis I knew took guff from no one. Let me know if you find where ya left your balls."

"Fuck you, Jason. If you're so smart, how'd you end up dead?

"There now, don't be like that when I'm only thinkin' o' you." Willie snorted derisively. "And you better think about your priorities. If you want to win back your lass, the time is now or never." He winked at his young friend. "If you hurry there and back, no one's the wiser."

* * *

Willie rang the doorbell at the Evans' cottage clutching his presents. Sam swung open the door with the gusto of a celebratory drunk.

"Merry Chris—! Oh, it's you." He started to close the door then gave the guest a second glance, "Is that for me?"

Willie held out the bottle of scotch. "Yessir." His voice was a cocktail of trepidation and hope.

"In that case, don't stand there like a lost dog, come on in." He yanked the young man through the door.

"Pop, what do you think you're doing?" Maggie was curled up on the sofa, covered by a multicolored afghan, and sipping hot chocolate. She glared at the intruder.

"But it's Christmas, sweetheart. I'll punch his face in tomorrow, eh, Loomis?" he laughed loudly as he slapped his son-in-law on the back.

Joe jumped up from his seat, grabbed a box from under the tree and approached the guest.

"We're glad you're here, because Maggie would like to talk to you. But first, happy holidays." He thrust the gift into the young man's hands.

"For m-me?" Willie was flustered. He tore off the wrapping and stared at the polyester-blend Prussian blue necktie nestled in white tissue paper.

Joe was unsure how to interpret the man's reaction, or lack thereof. "I've never seen you wear a tie, so I figured you don't have any, and I thought this might come in handy when you go on job interviews."

"Uh, thank you." Willie bit his lip in embarrassment, regretting now that Joe had been so callously dumped from his list.

"I bet he's going to tell us now that he never got a Christmas present before," Maggie commented sarcastically from the sidelines. "I wish I had gifts to give out this year, but I missed the last few shopping days."

"I'm sorry," her husband whispered. "This is for you." He pulled out a small package wrapped in linen writing paper and sealed with candle wax, and placed it in her lap.

Maggie almost flung the gift into the fire when she felt through the gift wrap the nature of its contents. She opened the package, briefly examined the earrings, then handed them back to Willie.

"You can return these to Mr. Collins. I don't want something you've stolen from your boss."

"But _I _didn't steal 'em."

Joe discretely guided Mr. Evans into the kitchen. "Come on, Sam, let's make some coffee."

Maggie motioned her husband to sit in the chair nearby. "Willie, let's face it, this isn't working out. I'm sorry, but this marriage—our whole relationship—has been one huge mistake."

Willie wiped his nose on his sleeve and stared at the Christmas tree, watching the twinkling colored lights. There was an angel on top. She turned and smiled at him as if everything was going to be alright.

"You're too unstable, and I don't know how to deal with it anymore," she continued, on the edge of tears. "I'm tired and hurt and angry and scared of you. This has to end."

Maggie waited for him to protest, but there was no response.

"Do you understand what I'm saying? We are getting a divorce, and then I don't want to ever see you again…Willie?" She pushed his shoulder. "Don't you dare zone out on me."

"I hear ya." He could feel his heart beating in his chest. It sent blood coursing through his veins, pulsing in his ears.

"If you don't believe me, I will get a restraining order and have you arrested, or I'll get Pop's rifle; you know I can use it."

"Okay." The young man made an effort to breathe normally.

"You're sick, Willie, and you refuse to get help. At least, go back to Mr. Collins and his wife; they've been very good to you."

Everybody wanted him back at the Old House, on a leash, where he belonged.

"W-what about…?"

"You can't even say the word." Now Maggie was really disgusted. "Well, don't worry! I release you from any paternal obligation, financial or otherwise."

Willie was silent; there was nothing to say. He had everything a man could ever want and then fucked it up as only Willie Loomis could. _But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue._ He looked up to see her studying him with those big brown eyes.

"Don't cry," the treetop angel advised. "Not in front of them."

"I think you should go now," Maggie said after what seemed to her to be an uncomfortable silence.

As if on cue, Joe and Sam came bustling into the room.

"Did I hear you were leaving?" Joe escorted him to the door and shook his hand. "Take care of yourself; I mean it. And have a good new year."

Willie was on the front steps when Sam beckoned him back.

"Here." The old man begrudgingly handed over the bottle of scotch. "Otherwise she'll yell at me too."


	10. Goodnight, Sweet Prince

_Willie decides to throw a party with his two best, albeit dead, friends._

* * *

Willie tossed the emerald and diamond earrings into a snow bank and climbed into his truck, but he did not return to his philanthropic patrons at the Old House. The idea of spending the rest of his miserable, worthless life with those ghouls sucked out whatever joy was left in his soul. The despondent servant drove to the comforting surroundings of Eagle Hill Cemetery and soon found himself ensconced in the peaceful solitude of the secret room.

Libation in hand, the young man surveyed the room; the shadows returned his gaze approvingly.

"We need a party," he announced suddenly and proceeded to light all the candles. When the candleholders ran out, he stuck the remaining ones to the floor with melted wax until the small cell was aglow.

Willie opened the bottle of scotch and shuddered; it was going to taste like shit. All alcohol did after Dr. Hoffman hypnotized that time, but that didn't stop him from wanting it and forcing it down. He set out a china platter and dumped the contents of the first prescription bottle: Antidepressants, because no one wants to be depressed, so that seemed a good place to start—and there was a smiley face on the bottle. After that he would down the Valium (which was for his anxiety), the painkillers (no explanation needed), and finish up with the sleeping pills, so he could get a good night's rest. The best rest ever, with no bad dreams ever again. He mixed them all up on the plate and started to pop them like party peanuts.

_Get help, Willie_, that's what everyone said. _Follow doctor's orders._ Blue pills, red pills, yellow pills, dead pills.

His gaze fell upon the discarded book on the floor. Hamlet briefly regarded him from the cover then returned his attention to his friend's skull. Willie opened to a random page.

_"To be or not to be_—that's a stupid question. _Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or to take arms against a sea of troubles_ _and"_ (he held up two pills)_ "by opposing, end them_." (and down the hatch).

Willie began to arrange the caplets in color patterns.

"_To die, to sleep—perchance to dream: For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off to Buffalo for the last time, must give us pause."_

Willie tossedthe book across the room. "Man, you are a killjoy! Couldn't you ever write anythin' happy? This party sucks."

He began to sing, loudly and off-key. There was no one to complain. The impromptu medley began with _Happy Birthday to Me_, followed by a verse of _Jingle Bells_ and _London Bridge is Falling Down. _

The ghost of Sarah Collins appeared beside him, tugging on his arm. "That's my favorite song…or it was."

"I know. I wanna invite you to my party. Where's Jason? I want him too." He hugged the little girl. "You guys are my friends."

"Does he have a favorite song?"

"Yeah, but he said not to—oh, what the fuck." He took another swig of scotch and began to sing softly, gently, melodically.

_"There was a dusky Eurasian maid,  
__In old Karachi she plied her trade,  
__And in Calcutta, and in Madras,  
__And, by special request, up the Khyber Pass._

_Black velvet was full of joy  
__For every Dublin sailor boy  
__She guaranteed to please  
__And the most that it costs you was five rupees."_

"That's a pretty song. Will you teach it to me?" the child asked.

"He will not." Jason was in the room as well. "This place looks a storm blew through. And what in hell's blazes is around your throat? That is not how to tie a necktie."

"I dunno how, so I did a half-hitch knot. Now I can do this." He pulled the tie into a noose position.

"What are you on about?" His translucent companion removed the tie and stowed it in the boy's duffle.

"_I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth_. Wherefore really means _why_, ya know, not _where_. And mirth—"

"I know what it means. Do me a favor? Find somethin' else to read."

"Jason, what's that story about the stingy old Scrooge? There was the ghost of Christmas past," he toasted little Sarah, "Christmas Present," with a nod to Jason, and holding up a handful of pills, "And the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."

The Irishman whispered into Sarah's ear and Willie watched distractedly as she evaporated. In recognition of the contrast, the young man held his own opaque hand to his face.

_"Oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt."_

Willie matter-of-factly removed his jacket and shirt, reached into his duffle and pulled out the straight-edge razor.

"You gave me this when I was 15. A hundred and one uses, ya said, remember?"

"Give me that," Jason reached for the razor but his companion pulled away. "Now what do ya think you're doin'?"

"We'll have fun again, just like old times. He stared at the blade. "Aw, Jason, I want the hurt to stop." His voice trailed off. "I wanna go someplace where there isn't any trouble. Do ya suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It's not a place ya can get to by a boat or with a train—"

"Stop talkin' nonsense. You're a young man yet, Willie. You have your whole life ahead of you."

"No, I'm old, too old to be a busboy." He waved the razor carelessly in the air. "Ha, they think they can boss me 'round and I haveta do everything they say, well, I'll show 'em."

"Really. You consider this a good way to assert yourself?" the Irishman looked incredulous, but Willie ignored him, bursting once more into song.

_"You should never argue with a crazy mind  
You oughta know by now  
And if that's what you have in mind  
Yeah, that's what it's all about,  
Good luck movin up, cause I'm movin' out—_Hey, look at this."

He started to carve the skin on his inner arm. "This is the design of a stencil I did in the sewin' room on the second floor." Jason cried out in alarm but Willie just laughed. "Oh, calm down, I'm barely breakin' skin. Funny how I was always scared a' needles, when they don't make hardly any blood, and now look at all this."

* * *

Sarah located David at the Great House who alerted Cousin Barnabas. He flew to the cemetery as Julia telephoned the hospital, yelling furiously into the handset when informed that the town's only ambulance was being used to transport Mrs. Puckett to her daughter's holiday dinner.

The vampire found Willie unconscious and alone in the secret room, covered in blood and multicolored vomit. He gathered the boy into his arms and raced toward the gate and the sound of approaching sirens. Willie was then strapped onto the gurney and lifted into the vehicle. He came to as one medic lightly slapped his face. Another was applying pressure to the numerous cuts on his arms.

"Wake up, sir, you have to stay awake. Try to keep your eyes open."

Willie squinted into the man's face. "'S really bright. Smells bad in here."

"Yes, sir, it sure does."

"Who the hell're you?"

"I'm Paul and the lady keeping your blood from pouring out all over our ambulance is Emily."

"Aw, shit."

Paul radioed the emergency room, "CHER, we have a mid-twenties male with numerous lacerations to both arms who appears to be in hypovolemic shock. He also ingested and regurgitated an unknown quantity of alcohol and prescription medications." He spoke to Willie, "Do you know what pills you took, sir?"

"Red, y'low, bue…"

"I can give you a list." That was Dr. Hoffman. Willie turned his head to see Barnabas and Julia sitting on the passenger bench on the other side of the ambulance. She clutched the vampire's hand as, with the other, he tried to dab stains from his suit with a handkerchief. "He must have—taken them from my medical bag."

"Looks like they all came back up, but they'll pump your stomach anyway," Emily offered.

_Dumb ass. Shoulda just jumped off the cliff like a normal person. _

**End of Part I**


	11. Return of the Psycho Zombie

**Part II  
****Chapter 11 – Return of the Psycho Zombie**

**July 1984**

_18 months later. _

Willie had a vague sensation of light. Something soapy, wet and warm glided across his chest, under his arm.

* * *

Something was being pushed into his mouth. A spoon. A pill. A straw.

* * *

Someone was holding his hand. There was music in the distance.

* * *

"_The tiny ship was tossed  
__If not for the courage of the fearless crew  
__The Minnow would be lost  
__The Minnow would be lost…" _

* * *

Someone was holding his hand again, and bracing his arm, guiding him as he slowly shuffled. Willie tripped and went down on his knees.

"Oh, gosh, are you alright?" Willie collapsed into a sitting position on the floor. "It's those slippers, they're too big for you." The patient blinked and focused his gaze. There, staring back with concern, was an obese young man with curly brown hair.

"Oo da duck're oo?" The words came out slowly and with great difficulty, as if the muscles in his tongue had abandoned all sense memory.

The big boy jumped back in alarm. "Nurse Jessie! He looked at me! He talked!"

Willie looked around in confusion as he was lifted up by a large black guy, carried into the infirmary and seated on an examination table. The aide continued to support the young man as a nurse took his vital signs and looked into his eyes with a penlight…like that lady doctor used to.

"Hi, there. Can you hear my voice? Do you see me?" The woman sounded like an idiot. Willie drew up his hand to see how far away she really was and unexpectedly touched her face. The orderly pulled it away, not roughly, but with authority.

"Can you tell me your name?" Obviously she was an idiot. Only when Willie tried to answer, his mouth didn't work again, and nothing coherent came out.

"That's okay. You haven't spoken to us for a very long time. Just nod if you know what your name is."

Now Willie felt like an idiot. He nodded, which brought on a wave of dizziness.

"Good." She smiled warmly. "That's a good start."

Then another black man came in, but he was wearing a lab coat instead of scrubs.

"I hear we have a breakthrough. Let's see our young patient." He picked up Willie's hand and put it in his own to shake. "Hello, my name is Dr. Gordon. You are actually under the care of Dr. Julia, but she is on an extended leave of absence, so I'll fill in." _Julia—Kauffman? That was the lady doctor._ "Do you know where you are?"

"Hosp'dal?"

"This is Wyndcliff Sanitarium. It's a psychiatric institution."

"Nu' house." Willie wasn't surprised; that's where you put the loony tunes.

Gordon ignored his comment. "You've been with us a long time. Do you remember any of it?" The doctor smiled and the aide laughed. "I have to say you were quite a handful when you first arrived."

"Sowy."

"No, no, don't apologize. That's why folks come here—to work out their problems, right?"

_Someplace where there isn't any trouble. Problems get solved. Folks get better. _

"Di' I ge' bedder?"

"After Dr. Julia prescribed your medication and course of treatment, well, your brain took a rest for a while." Dr. Gordon scanned the young man's chart. "Good lord, she had the patient on all these at once, in addition to the ECT?"

"Yes, sir," the nurse stammered. "The doctor said—"

"Catatonic schizophrenia, indeed," he read grumbling. "I wonder if that was the reason for the treatment, or the result." He turned to Jessica. "Did upstairs okay this?"

"Well, I—actually, I'm not sure."

"The other tards call him Psycho Zombie," the aide volunteered cheerfully. That didn't sound at all promising. Willie stared at the floor, hugging himself. "Stay cool, man, it's just a nickname. Everybody likes you—the ones you haven't attacked, anyway."

"Okay, Leroi, that's enough," the young woman warned. Willie started to rock back and forth and put his head on her shoulder when Nurse Jessica hugged him. She smelled like flowers, and he could see down the top of her uniform.

The doctor slammed the case file closed. "I'm putting in a call to Julia Hoffman today. That list needs to be modified immediately."

"Now, Doc," Leroi interjected. "Do you remember when this dude first came in here? He was bouncing off the walls, even tried to cut Dr. Ned with a popsicle stick. Those meds where the only thing that calmed him down."

"Our job here is to help patients to recover with medication and therapy, not drug them into submission."

Leroi nodded a vague affirmation. Doc didn't have to deal with Psycho Zombie in the ward.

* * *

Willie spent the remainder of the day parked in the TV Room. This place was a little piece of heaven. They were going to feed him, give him drugs, and let him watch television all day. The only problem was someone else had the remote control. A bug-eyed, skeletal freak who could not stop twitching, made threats to the game show contestants on the screen, furiously taking notes on a yellow pad. His head shot in Willie's direction.

"Imposter! You're not Psycho Zombie, the spell is broken." He snapped, and scribbled that on his pad. "I will now call you Psycho Elf. You need a new mission." Bug Eyes thought for a moment. "I'll get back to you."

Willie looked to his other companions. There was a white-haired lady who cried at everything. On the TV, _Let's Make a Deal_ was playing, and Monty Hall handed out $5 bills to anyone who had chewing gum in their purse. This made the woman cry. In the audience was a man dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. Again she cried. When the Hallmark Card commercial came on, the floodgates opened.

On his other side was a haggard old man, or maybe he was young; it was hard to tell. He stared at the ceiling with vacant hollow eyes and drooled. The gentleman smelled like he had pissed himself.

A woman was staring at him from the doorway. Wearing denim cutoffs and a tank top, she had long, dark hair and demonic green eyes. The young lady approached Willie, sat next to him and grabbed his crotch.

"It's time for your physical therapy."

She was snatched up by a passing nurse. "No thank you, Angela. I've told you before, leave our zombie friends alone."

"'S okay, I'm no' a zom'ie," Willie corrected the lady as she ushered Angela out of the room.

* * *

After the umpteenth godforsaken game show, the Willie pushed himself into a standing position and began to carefully walk around the room, talking aloud. No one took note of this behavior as the young man began to teach himself how to speak again. Others were talking to themselves too, but they were crazy.

The simple act of walking required a great deal of concentration and precaution. His slippers were indeed several sizes too big, as were the cotton pajama bottoms, which pooled around his ankles, and a grossly oversized, stained T-shirt which hung to his knees.

Willie wandered into the Common Room, gravitating toward a window barricaded with metal grid work and bars. Outside, he observed the fat dude sitting on a picnic bench, smoking. It looked like a pleasant, sunny day—not like that place he was before where it always rained and thundered. Willie searched for the exit, but an aide was there in an instant, barring his path.

"Back away from the door."

"Ca' I go ou'side doo?" Willie asked, smiling politely.

"Some other time. That's a privilege you have to earn. You finish your walk in here today."

Just then yet another orderly unceremoniously plopped him into a wheelchair.

"There you are, Psycho. Come on, it's potty time." He whisked the patient away.

"Duck off!"

"Hey, look at you, all walkin' and talkin'. That's great, now let's go."

"I don' wan' do."

"And that's a cryin' shame, but I got 12 tards on this shift, and your reservation is for right now." He wheeled Willie toward the men's restroom. "Otherwise you'll just have to go later. Then you have to use the sign-out sheet, wait for an aide, and end up having an accident."

"Nooo, I wan'..." Willie wasn't sure what he wanted, but he knew it did not involve having a personal potty helper.

"Now you never gave me problems before. Come on, it's me, Mitch. You and me are buddies."

"'Kay…buddy." Willie muttered, resigned. There were no urinals, and the stalls had no doors. The young man looked around in dismay.

"Nobody's gonna bother you. Just please hurry up; you're gonna put me off schedule."

* * *

A trio of chimes was heard in the Day Room. Some patients jumped eagerly into the lineup, some wandered in the opposite direction; others did nothing. Eventually, the queue was complete, heads counted and the group was ushered into the dining hall.

Willie was handed a tray, laden with an assortment of soft food. He looked for a place to sit when someone took his arm, directing him to one in a succession of long tables.

"This way; you always sit with me." It was the fat guy from earlier. Willie looked askance as his dining companion reached over to tuck a napkin in his shirt and proceeded to feed him.

"Wha' ya doin'?" He knocked the plastic spoon away.

"But I always help you to eat," the man replied, surprised and hurt. "I'm your best friend."

"I don' e'en know oo da duck oo are." The fat guy stared at his plate and began to weep—quietly at first, but increasing rapidly to an uncomfortable volume. Willie looked around with apprehension, but no one intervened. He gave the man a little push on the shoulder. "So, oo da duck are oo? If yer my bes' fend, I odda know yer name."

"Stanley Mendelssohn, like the composer," the other answered with a hiccup. "Sometimes they call me Fat Boy," he added in a small voice.

"O'ay, Stan'ey, stop saltin' yer food. I godda do dis mydelf, bu' oo help ou' if I mish my mout'. 'Ow's da'?" The man nodded with a big, snotty sniff. "Wha's dis? Mush, mush, mush an' mush."

"Sloppy Joes, applesauce, mashed potatoes and tapioca pudding. There's a lot of old people here."

"Soun's goo' t' me; I ea' anythin'."

Most of the food hit its target but, after a few minutes, Willie zoned out again. When he returned to reality, his buddy was eating from the tray.

"Stan'ey, da's mine."

"I'm still hungry, and you never finish anything."

"Gimme pud'in."

"We'll share." And Stanley proceeded to ladle alternating spoonfuls of tapioca in Willie's mouth.

Thus cemented the friendship of Fat Boy and Psycho Zombie.


End file.
